


Happy Trails

by EmpressOfTheFlame



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Alternative Canon, Alternative Timeline, Angst, Arthur being a Cute Dad, Blow Jobs, Death, Established Relationship, Female Reader, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I do what I want essentially, Multi, NSFW, Outdoor Sex, POV Second Person, Pregnancy, Reader-Insert, Secret Relationship, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, headcanons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-06 18:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 41,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17350067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmpressOfTheFlame/pseuds/EmpressOfTheFlame
Summary: Save a horse, ride a cowboy, that's how the saying goes, right?[Reader/Various][Requests are welcome!]





	1. Pregnancy (John Marston)

**Author's Note:**

> The 50th work I'll be posting on this website! I've wanted to write for RDR for awhile but I hadn't played much of the 2nd game yet, and I still haven't, so I'm just gonna mark things as Alternate Canon just in case (and also I'm sure there'll be plenty I want to change or mess around with in Canon to make for interesting stories). 
> 
> The Mature rating is just because I know there'll be porn in here at some point, and also the character tags + additional tags will be updated as I update the story if need be, I don't want to falsely advertise characters being in it who aren't in it quite yet!

You were mad as all hell.

The baby bump was forming now, though not quite noticeable when you put a jacket on. Soon enough you’d be larger and there wouldn’t be any hiding it, and then an even bigger issue would arise. Did you know the father? Of course you fucking did, there was only one person around this goddamn camp you slept with, and he _already_ had a kid wandering around. You loved Jack, watched over him sometimes to give his mother a break, but that’d been occurring less and less for certain reasons that had to do with the growing life inside you.

You’d been avoiding John the last month, mostly because he and Abigail fought less when you two interacted less openly; you knew she could likely tell John had feelings for you, and you don’t know which part of it she cared about more. As far as you knew they weren’t a couple anymore, they had loudly announced that to the entire camp after a bitter argument, and that had been the beginning of your relationship with him. You weren’t obvious, particularly out of respect for Abigail and also for Jack, but you think it was pretty obvious to just about everyone you two had a _thing_. You still didn’t want to label it, and John wasn’t exactly rushing to commit either.

It probably stung to know John might love you more than her, but she was most likely more worried about Jack, and how John already had trouble being a father to him; if he had another woman, that would only seem to give him more reason to abandon the son he already had. Their arguments continued despite their waning romantic relationship, and while you’d tried to tell John to man up and take responsibility, you don’t know how much you’d gotten through to him.

And now you were pregnant.

John might not always be the sharpest, but he wasn’t stupid enough to not recognize that you were avoiding him on the regular. You’d do anything to get out of a conversation with him, you’d hightail it in the opposite direction when you saw him coming towards you, and you hadn’t even let him touch you before you’d started avoiding him. He wondered if he did something wrong, said something stupid (it was likely) that hurt your feelings, but no matter how much he wracked through his brain, he couldn’t think of why you’d be treating him like this.

“Hey!”

You’d been lost in your thoughts, your worries, when John manages to catch up with you before you can run for it. You’re just a bit outside camp, far enough away from the others that they won’t overhear should you decide to impulsively let loose the secret you’d been keeping for a few months. You didn’t have any intentions to do so, but John looked like he was coming over to start a fight, and you’re sure revealing he was gonna have a second child being brought into the world would wipe that look right off his face.

“Why’ve you been avoidin’ me?”

“I ain’t.”

“What am I, stupid?” He shakes his head, clearly not wanting a response on that one. “If there’s a problem, we should talk.”

It’s a profound statement coming from him, but it’s likely he’d learned this lesson because of his failed relationship with Abigail. He was never able to communicate his feelings to her, not just the love and care he had, but the fear of being a father when he damn well knew he wasn’t prepared for the responsibility. It’s another reason you’d grown so close to him in such a short amount of time; he felt like you not just listened to him, but you tried to understand him instead of attempting to talk over him or force him into a certain way of thinking.

“This problem can’t be solved by just talkin’.” He tilted his head to the side, waiting for you elaborate. You’re not sure if you should still even though you should probably tell him before anyone else, though you were starting to think the other women were catching on. Probably best to tell him before the gossip hit him and he really had a melt down over it.

“Gimme your hands.”

He watches you carefully but presents his hands to you, and you grab them, hesitating before you pull them under your jacket. It takes him a second to register as you press his hands against your rounded stomach, and you silently dared him to make some kind of joke about your weight; it’s hard to make out his expression as he seems to be deep in thought, but you know at that point he’s at least gotten what you were getting at.

“You’re apparently a very fertile man John Marston.” You would laugh at your own joke if you weren’t feeling so depressed, releasing his hands from your grip. You almost miss the warmth of having someone touching your extended belly so you wrap a protective arm around it yourself. “So tell me how I was supposed to be startin’ this conversation with you.”  

“I… it’s mine, right?”

“Ask me that again and let’s see if you get away from this conversation with all your teeth.”

“Alright, alright,” John runs his hands through his hair, looking mildly stressed. “I didn’t mean nothin’ like that.”

“I didn’t wanna tell you until I knew what to do about it, okay? Thing is, there’s no way to get out of this without… I don’t know. Fightin’.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout Abigail, I’ll handle that.”

“It’s not just handlin’ her that I need from you, John. I need you to start takin’ care of that little boy you already have! Barely interested in takin’ care of him but you’re somehow gonna be better with two?”

“Hey now-!”

“Don’t hey now me! Look at me and tell me that ain’t the truth! I don’t know what to do about any of this and I can’t even turn to you to ask what to do, because you got no idea what you’re doin’ either.”

“I don’t know what to do either but I love you-”

“Goddamn it, John.” You roll your eyes, turning away with an irritated look on your face but you feel him reach out for you, stopping you from walking away.

“Don’t goddamn it me, I _do_ love you. More than anything.”

“Then prove it to me.” You whisper, removing his hand from your shoulder and turning back to face him. “Show me you can make more than minimal effort, and then we can both… try to talk to Abigail. Together. But if you’re not gonna bother, then leave me alone.”

He watches you walk off towards camp, his heart aching as his head tells him it’s better to not go after you for the time being, especially not when he had so much to think about.


	2. Imaginary (Arthur Morgan)

You really had to be a special case.

Sometimes, you got a little bold with your flirting, knowing that Arthur might not look at you as anything but a troublesome little sibling. When you were alone is when you were boldest, and if it really bothered him, you figured he’d start avoiding being alone with you, but if anything, your alone time together seemed to increase.

Your favorite thing to do was run your hand across his cheek, almost caressing it but disguising it as a more playful action by pinching it at the end (he doesn’t seem to mind, but if the pinch is too rough, he does give you a look). You loved the feeling of his scruff, telling him on more than one occasion how disappointed you were every time he wore the clean-shaven look instead. You also had a preference in haircut on him, slightly long but not too long; when it started to get long you’d playfully come up from behind him, twirling a few strands of his hair and asking him if he personally wanted you to give him a haircut (with you adding you knew the kind the suited him just right).

You really couldn’t be anymore obvious but it’s not as though you spoke directly to him about whatever it is you had for him, and you think he liked that just fine; it was easier to deal with your imagination, the fake Arthur in your head that saw all these signs and secretly had a fire burning inside him that had him wanting you just as bad as you wanted him. Real Arthur was unreadable, though he never pulled away from your touch, even seeming to lean into when you caught him off-guard. You wonder if that’s just your imagination too, thinkin’ Arthur was just too nice to you for your own good because he didn’t want to needlessly hurt your feelings.

You were too stuck in your fantasies though, enough so that Arthur thought you were likely infatuated with an imaginary him that didn’t exist. He didn’t see the draw to wanting him, what would attract someone like you to someone like him, and he didn’t take your flirting too seriously; clearly, you had a different image of what your relationship could be in your head, instead of thinking of the reality of it all. He was a man with issues, ones that he couldn’t burden you with, but it doesn’t mean he didn’t like to indulge in a fantasy or two involving you himself.

Soon enough, the reality would have to hit you both: you were idiots in love.


	3. Nosy (Arthur Morgan)

You were always thankful for a moment of peace, when you didn’t have any obligations.

Now, that wasn’t necessarily true, as you were still expected to help around camp and donate money to help out, but it still allowed you more freedom than being on the run. Between helping the ladies with chores around the camp, or doing a bit of hunting, you found yourself in your own tent writing away. You didn’t really write stories or anything, just observed the things around you and wrote down your feelings in the moment.

If you were being honest, your favorite pastime was listening in on others conversations.

You don’t bother to spread the gossip you hear, of course, that would just be mean-spirited, but the thing you did best in the group was gather information. You really couldn’t help that you were listening at all times, but most of it was just harmless; who had a thing for who, who had slept with who at some point, who got too drunk in the nearby town and got arrested for it, all interesting tidbits that you’d jot down in your little black book and keep for yourself.

Your favorite was listening to Molly and Dutch go at it, and not in the fun way.

You always found yourself drifting near their tent when you were wandering around camp aimlessly, and it wasn’t shocking to hear them having a little spat now and again. You don’t think you’d technically call hearing their fights eavesdropping either, because they often got loud enough the whole damn camp heard anyway. But you couldn’t help yourself, writing down some of the outlandish things Molly would accuse Dutch of and listening to he replied to her accusations. You could see the slow deterioration of their relationship, and wondered what might come of it in the long run.

You’re temporarily distracted from a conversation between Hosea and Dutch when Arthur walks closer to you, making his presence known.

“Arthur!”

You’re excited to see him, considering it’s been a few days since he’d set off to rob some stagecoach; you hated it when he left but you had long since accepted that was the life of being an outlaw. He generally let you go with him but if he sensed something was a little too dangerous, he’d prefer you stay behind, and thus left you at the camp eagerly awaiting his return.

“Hey there, beautiful.” You wrap your arms around his shoulders and feel content when he hugs you back, moving so that his hands could comfortably rest on your hips. “Kept yourself busy while I was gone?”

“I sense somethin’ in the air.”

“Is that right?” Arthur looks at you amused. “And that would be?”

“I sense a fight comin’ along. It’s been too quiet all day, Molly hasn’t bothered any of us…” You peer around the corner of where you’re standing to stare at the tent, seeing her looking into her mirror. “She always gets real quiet like this before she starts somethin’ with Dutch.”

“You are one nosy woman, you know that?” His words aren’t malicious, more fond than anything, and you turn back to him with a smile on your face.

“I know, but what else am I supposed to do around here for entertainment?” You lean back into his touch, head resting on his chest as you both stood there, enjoying each other’s company before Arthur went to tell Dutch about how the robbery went. “Can we make a promise, though?”

“And what’s that?”

“That we don’t ever argue like they do. At _least_ not where the whole camp can hear, I don’t need people to know I’m crazy.” You glance behind you without moving from Arthur’s arms to see how close Dutch is, and see he’s moved closer to his own tent, with Molly eyeing him intently now. “Oh, look, the party is about to start.”

Arthur just shakes his head, though he can’t say he wouldn’t be listening in, too.


	4. Healer (John Marston)

“John Marston if you don’t stop your whinin’ I’m gonna throw you back out to the wolves.”

Despite your harsh words, you’re relieved to see the young man at least alive; he was half-dead, but half wasn’t whole and you could work with half. Your fingers are nearly frozen from your own journey through the snowstorm nightmare outside but you try to be as careful as possible while cleaning John’s wounds, though you’re distracted by the sound of Abigail pacing just outside the door. You know she was just as relieved as you were, but you didn’t want her around to aggravate your patient, and they had a tendency to explode on one another once someone got started.

You’d prefer avoiding that for the time being.

You notice John leaning into your touch more and more as you cleaned up his wounds and helped him hurt a little less, though you knew his leg would likely continue to be an issue if the bones in it didn’t heal properly. That was the next problem you had to tackle, but you’re distracted by John who suddenly turns his head so he can kiss the exposed part of your knuckles. You give him an incredulous look, especially with his former lover directly outside the door, raring to burst in to check on his condition at any moment.

“What exactly do you think you’re doin’ Mr. Marston?” He smiles at you briefly before his face turns to a grimace, the wounds on the side of his face making it hard to emote.

“Just showin’ how grateful I am to you.”

“Wait to be grateful until after I’m done cleanin’ you up, unless you want to bleed out?”

“No ma’am.”

He leans back to let you continue what you’re doing but you smile now, grabbing his hand and kissing his knuckles to return the show of affection. You would’ve given him a kiss if his face wasn’t still full of his own blood, a detail that would be taken care of after his wounds were tended, but you can tell John’s satisfied with at least that for the time being.

Once he’s taken care of, all wrapped up, to the best of your ability you stand up and stretch, feeling a little sore after taking care of him for what felt like hours. You were glad you got to do it yourself because otherwise, you’d be the one anxiously pacing around outside waiting to see him, and that would be a little more obvious than anything that you may or may not have more of a relationship with John than what it appeared. You had preferred to keep it to yourself, knowing the explanation that you were together would cause a lot of trouble around camp, but you didn’t really mind it as long as John stayed loyal.

And, for all the bad things that could be said about him, he was loyal, at least.

“Wait.” John tugs at your hand as you go to walk towards the door, wanting to announce to the rest of the gang that he’ll thankfully live to see another day. “One kiss before you go. Won’t be able to sneak around and get you to myself for a while.”

“While that’s true…” You lean down, his face still a slight mess but otherwise clean, to give him a quick peck. “You know I’ll be back by your side tonight to keep an eye on you.”


	5. Ten Dollars (Arthur Morgan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off a camp interaction between Uncle and Grimshaw... it's amazing and this is immediately what I thought about.

Some of things you heard around camp were more entertaining than any book you could read.

You always tried to make yourself look busy when Grimshaw was around, finding a few hiding spots where you could rest without fear of being berated, but sometimes you didn’t mind talking to her. You know she was always looking out for you and your well-being, offering advice that comes from her own years of experience with the gang. While you’re sitting, having a conversation with her, Uncle interrupts without shame. You would complain if you hadn’t known Uncle to be extremely entertaining, especially because you saw the glint in his eye as he started talking to Grimshaw; he wanted _something_.

You pretend to mind your business as you listen to their conversation, though you find it hard not to smirk or laugh.

“When you gonna let me take you out for an evening, into town… You know, to a-like a magic lantern show or some such?” You certainly hadn’t thought there was any type of romance going on around camp for Uncle, but you’re pleasantly surprised; was he really asking Grimshaw out on a date? You’re sure the other girls would be thrilled to hear about this.

“Well, I don’t… I think… I’m getting a little long in the tooth for…”

“Oh, nonsense! How about tomorrow?”

Arthur strolls up a few seconds later, about to start a conversation when you hold up a finger to him; he raises an eyebrow, but is clearly used to you doing this because he stands there patiently and doesn’t say another word. You point your finger at them,

“Well, let me think.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“…Okay.”

“Well… now, if I’m gonna go out with you, I’m gonna have to look my best, so…. Can I borrow ten dollars?”

You almost completely lost it, hand slapping over your mouth and bending over as you try to hold back your laughter; the audacity of this man… But can you say you’re surprised? Grimshaw notices this, you think it only adds to her fury, and she gets up in a huff, looking like she might physically take down Uncle herself.

“I’m good for it.” Uncle offers up weakly, and tears are forming in the corners of your eyes, with it becoming harder and harder to contain your laughter.  

Grimshaw leaves while muttering under her breath how horrible Uncle is, while said man just lets out a sigh and holds his hands up in defeat. Through your own laughter (which you’ve stopped containing since Grimshaw stormed off) you hear Arthur call him low, with Uncle responding with a shrug. By the time you’ve managed to get yourself together and wipe the tears from your eyes, Arthur’s sitting in the spot Grimshaw had previously been occupying.

“Now that the show is over… can we talk?”

“You gonna ask me for ten dollars?” You ask teasingly, some more giggles slipping through, and Arthur flashes you a smile.

“I’d take you on the date first, at least.”


	6. Truth Comes Out [Pregnancy pt. 2] (John Marston)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 to Pregnancy!

When the truth came out, it was awkward but not nearly as awful as it could’ve been.

You had considered leaving the gang, going to live back with your parents or some relatives until you’d safely had the baby and decided what you wanted to do. Did you want your child to grow up surrounded by violence, even if they were among a gang who’d look out for them? Not to mention it might feel like directly spitting in Abigail’s face, carrying around a baby, though you’re sure Jack would be excited about the concept of a half-sibling who he could play with. John hadn’t been much help in making a decision, especially because of the puppy dog eyes he sent your way when you mentioned wanting to leave. He didn’t want you to leave, even if he told you he understood and would support what you wanted; he wanted to be with you, no matter what.

John couldn’t make things more obvious between the two of you, not necessarily hovering but clearly caring more about what you were eating and when you were doing it. Some would almost call it doting, something John hadn’t really proved to be before this moment; you told him to back off, to wait until you at least consulted Hosea about what to do, before completely revealing your condition to everyone around. Another thing that had changed was John taking your advice, as you noticed he was spending a little more time around Jack; he still couldn’t make up for all the time he wasted, but the effort to be a father and create some sort of bond was clear. It was easy to assume he was just doing it to prove to you he could take care of your baby, but you knew deep down that John cared about Jack, even if he had a hard time showing it.

The worst part is you felt guilty for doing this to Abigail.

You didn’t take John away from her, because John himself had walked away long before. You couldn’t help that you reciprocated those feelings, nor could you help that you ended up pregnant because of it. You weren’t trying to get him to ignore Jack, or her, either, you wanted him to care about the family he had but you knew in the end, to her it would still seem like John was choosing you over them. You tried not to agonize over it too much, keeping yourself busy with simple chores around the camp, but it still stressed you out as you thought of the conversation that would be coming.

The truth came out when John was arguing with Abigail, over what, you didn’t really know. You hadn’t even been there like you wanted to, you had just heard them arguing across the camp and tried to do your best to ignore it. You’d simply been helping wash clothes when she came storming across the way, over towards where you and Tilly were sitting; her cheeks were red and her brows were furrowed, and you could just _tell_ she knew.

“Are you… Are you really?”

“I-I’m sorry, Abigail, it just-”

“Don’t.” She holds out a hand, taking in a deep breath. “I just feel sorry for you. Because he’s gonna do the same damn thing he did to me to you.”

She turns and leaves before you have the chance to respond, and you can’t even be mad at her words because she could be right. John could easily avoid responsibility for his actions again, largely ignoring the care it takes to raise a child and leaving you to do it on your lonesome. You had wanted to have faith in him after seeing him make more effort with Jack, but the reality is, you’d been preparing yourself for the worst case scenario since you discovered you were pregnant. Her words once again made you think about sending a letter home to let them know your condition and that you’d be coming to them soon, but something kept stopping you from taking that final step.

The whole camp knew that night and you feared how they’d treat you, though you knew that was damn foolish; if anyone was gonna catch the slack for this, it would be John, and he sure did. You heard Karen throw out a joke about which woman he planned on getting pregnant next, which only made him scowl. Arthur couldn’t help himself either, but you had a feeling he had some more serious things to say to John when the gang fully got its jabs out on him. No one had a mean thing to say to you, though, and you were treated just about the same as you always had been; most of the men were quick to ask how you were feeling now, and would always offer you a place to sit when you came over to talk to one of them. 

You sit yourself in John’s tent that night, waiting for him to finally pull himself away and meander in. He’s almost surprised to see you, because you had been rather frosty to him after the confrontation with Abigail; you had been caught off-guard, and were clearly unhappy about how it all played out. But there was a tension, a weight, that had finally been lifted off your shoulders with the truth being out, and now you didn’t have to hide your pregnant belly anymore (it was getting hot, and wearing the coat so often had some questioning your sanity).

“Hey there.” John zipped shut the tent behind him, not that it offered much privacy regardless.

“Hey.” You respond, hand rubbing your stomach. It was an action that had almost become second nature at this point, comforting you when you felt you were in an awkward conversation. John comes over to sit next to you on his cot, looking over at your belly tentatively.

“If you wanna touch it, touch it.” You reach over to grab his hand, and when he doesn’t stop you, you slip it under the shirt you’re wearing so he can touch the bare, stretched skin. You can tell it still makes him slightly uncomfortable, maybe the thought of being a father really wasn’t up his alley, but he doesn’t pull away from it. His calloused fingers gently glide over your skin, and you can hear him swallow before he carefully pulls his hand out.

“I had… bad timing.”

“Yeah, we’ll call it that.”

“Abigail knew, said things were weird, and I know you wanted to talk to her together but I couldn’t just keep it to myself anymore. She didn’t give you too much grief, did she?”

“Nah. Just told me she feels sorry because I’m gonna be dealin’ with the same thing she did.” He cringes at that, but doesn’t dispute it.

“Guess I deserve that.”

“You do.” You bite your lip, trying to sit up straight to help your aching back. “I still believe in you, John, as dumb as I may be. Just don’t make me look like a fool, alright?”

“You won’t be the one lookin’ like a fool.”

John’s smiling now, and it feels like the air between you is a little clearer, even if all your problems hadn’t been solved yet. His arm wraps around your shoulder and you lean against him, curling into his side the best you can as he leans over to press a kiss to your head. If you hadn’t been pregnant you’d probably have hopped yourself onto his lap and been partly undressed by now, which leads you to realize _exactly_ why you’re pregnant by John’s hand. The events of the day catch up to you quickly and your dirty thoughts are replaced with sleepy ones, and before you know, you’re laying on your side on John’s cot.

“I can make it back to my bed…” You mumble out sleepily, and John shakes his head.

“Nah, you’re gonna stay here tonight. Like it more when you’re here.” You give him a weak smile before letting your eyes flutter closed, and you hear him getting into a comfortable sleeping position on the ground next to you (the cot was a little too small for a man and pregnant person).

You might not really understand where the future is leading you, but at least John was along for the ride.


	7. A Dream is A Dream (Arthur Morgan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this little story collection is gonna include more than just Arthur and John at some point.

“You are a horrible person, Arthur Morgan.”

He knew this, told himself this constantly along with other self-deprecating things that got far worse than just calling himself horrible, but something was different about hearing it from another person’s mouth. You stood before him, arms crossed and completely closed off for him, and it made his heart ache to see you pull away from his touch when he reached out for you.

“I told you not to get close to me.” His own voice feels weak, he doesn’t feel like himself.

“I guess this is what you wanted me to learn, right? That whole lesson in not trustin’ people?”

“I _hurt_ people. It’s all I’m good at.” He had never been dishonest with you about who he was, or what he did, which is why he feels so muddled and confused now. Shouldn’t you have brought this up before? Why now was it suddenly such a problem you’d confront him in such a manner, completely tearing his heart out in the process; he didn’t think he’d actually feel this pain again, heartbreak, but he was finding himself wrong about plenty of things these days.

“I trusted you!” Your voice cracks as you scream at him, and now you’re crying, tears streaming down your face, a sight he hated seeing; it’d only happened a handful of times, and it still made him sick to his stomach. “Just let me go, Arthur, just let me go.”

It was the hardest thing you could ask him to do, something he didn’t even know if he could, but in the end he knows it’s what he deserves. If a God existed in this world there’s no way it’d ever let a man like him be happy, and this happening was proof of that; he watches you walk away and as he goes to call out for you to just wait a minute, to come back and explain, his voice catches in his throat. He suddenly feels parched, mouth dry and unable to properly form words, and soon he’s sinking to the ground in defeat as you completely disappear before he even has the chance to say he loves you.

Arthur wakes up in a cold sweat, his dream more real than anything he’s ever experienced before; he curses as he sits up in bed, rubbing his temples and wondering where the hell that came from. It takes him a moment to reorient himself to reality, to what was actually happening around him; the sun was just beginning to rise in the distance, he could see it from the light drifting through the half closed curtain. He was in bed, all his belongings stored in a chest to the right of him; there was just one more thing he had to check.

He knows it’s damn stupid to take a dream to heart like that but he turns slowly to his other side, to peer at the person occupying the other side of the bed. You’re still curled up, as heavy a sleeper as always, and you look like you’re having more pleasant dreams than he did. He doesn’t know why he half-expected you not to be there, rubbing his eyes and laying down on his back as he tries to wipe away the dream that still feels fresh. He knew he hadn’t meant to fall as hard for you as he did, he could probably confidently say (only to himself) that he was in love with you, and maybe that’s why the dream hit him so hard.

He didn’t know what it was like to feel love so genuinely without having it torn away from him.

Arthur turns on his side to face you, considering leaving you be and not waking you up just because he wanted to feel your body against him (just to make sure you’re actually real). He briefly remembers you diving on the bed early as sin a day after he’d been drinking heavily, waking up with the worst hangover of his life, and decides he feels no pity for waking you up like this. He slings an arm around your waist and pulls your body closer to him, an easy feat since you almost seem to help him out by wiggling closer.

“Arthur?” You let out a sleepy mumble, yawning but still not opening your eyes. “It’s too early.”

“Early bird gets the worm, sweetheart.” He kisses the back of your neck, nuzzling the soft skin and breathing in your scent. Sometimes he treated moments like these as though they were the last he’d have with you, even if that wasn’t the case; he’d long since learned he should be prepared for the worst case scenario. That dream could be a reality one day, couldn’t it? He could end up hurting you so bad you leave him, but not before taking his heart with you.

“Fine.” You sit up in the bed, his arm now thrown across your lap. “If I’m makin’ breakfast, you’re makin’ the coffee. Deal?”

He finally moves, sitting up alongside you while you both sit in the bed, waiting for the grogginess of sleep to disappear with the rising sun. You lean against his shoulder, waiting until he looks over at you to give him a ‘good morning’ kiss; he reciprocates strongly, a little moreso than you’re used to. Normally Arthur was a little more lax with affection, especially in the morning hours unless he was horny, but right now he seemed a little more _needy_ than normal. You can’t pinpoint why but you’re not gonna question it, pulling away and flashing a smile at him.

“How did I get so lucky to get someone like you?” He’d think that was a joke, coming from anyone but you.

“I ask myself that every day, darlin’.”

Maybe he had to learn a dream _was_ just a dream, not a premonition, and he had nothing to worry about.


	8. 'Sleeping' with the Enemy (Kieran Duffy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally finished up the mission where Kieran becomes part of the gang (I'm... really slow with playing this game I'm sorry) and then when I went into camp, he was having a conversation with Mary-Beth and he was just... super cute so I was inspired to write this.

You felt like you had a good sense for people at this point.

Your talent for information gathering required you to know people, how they act, and to decipher whether they’re lying or not. Some leads could turn out to be duds regardless, but for the most part, you’ve nailed down the art of getting what you wanted out of other people. It had also given you the ability to judge a person just on a first impression, and you liked to think you were spot on with it; the gang had a tendency to trust your judgment, since you rarely proved to be wrong.

You were also known to be too nice for your own good, even for a thief and murderer, and though you’d never go against the gang’s wishes, you couldn’t help but linger near the pitiful prisoner.

“Please… Just some food…” The poor thing had been tied to the tree for days now, Kieran was his name if you remembered correctly.

“Why don’t you just tell us what we wanna know?” You ask innocently, though you try not to make it obvious you’re talking to him. You’re not sure Dutch or Arthur would be happy to see you chatting with the enemy, though you wonder if they ever considered using kindness when it came to coercing people; you doubted it. “You know we’d be more likely to spare ya.”

“It’d be a death sentence.”

“Being tied to a tree without food is already a death sentence, hon. You might as well give yourself a fightin’ chance.”

You leave him to ponder this and finish up your own chores, still feeling guilty that you couldn’t give him a little something to eat but wanting him to just give up information on the O’Driscoll’s. If he hated them so much, why not just give them up? If he as able-bodied, Dutch might even consider letting him stay around, as long as he makes himself useful. You would certainly try to vouch for him, especially since from your very limited interactions with him Kieran hasn’t really _felt_ like he was a bad guy.

You’re pleased when not even a day later, Kieran finally relents and lets the boys in on where Colm was hiding out. You thought he was telling the truth, something you mention to Arthur off-handedly before he leaves with John and Bill to go check it out. He nods and seems to take it into consideration, but you know if anything went wonky during their ride there, Kieran was as good as dead. You made eye-contact with said hostage, who nodded nervously at you, as though thanking you for the advice you gave.

You’re pleased to hear that Kieran gets to join the gang, even if there is still some heavy suspicion surrounding him; you knew he’d probably turn out to be the punching bag for some of the rowdier members around here until he really proved his worth. You were among the only people to show him kindness, even mentioning you’re glad he decided to stick around with the people who tortured him for days; he chuckles at that and looks rather flustered, admitting that being among the O’Driscoll’s could be much worse.

At this point he’d been with the lot of you for a few days, helping out with chores around the place and chatting with those who’d give him the time of day. You noticed he was rather kind, probably not wanting to step on toes but you sensed it wasn’t too far from how he actually was. You’d only interacted with him once or twice, the first time being him thanking you for helping him get a chance (you’d openly spoken up and supported the idea of him staying with you on a preliminary basis) and the other having him help you with a rather boring chore that was made a little more fun by having someone to chat with.

“You’re- You’re really too nice to be in a gang.” Kieran states out of the blue while you’re eating dinner, thankfully not around any of the other members who might taken offense to that statement. You smile, knowing what he’s getting at and reaching over to pat his hand.

“You haven’t been with us long enough to see me do my worst.” He stares at your hand that’s now resting on top of his, shifting around nervously in his seat. “I hope you stick around long enough to figure that out, though. I kinda like you, Kieran.”

Your flirtation was a bold move, and was performed more because you’d love to see how he’d react; his squirminess just because of you touching him was cute, so how would he react to being openly flirted with? For the most part he just gives you a wide-eyed look, probably wondering if he’s still tied to the tree and simply hallucinating, but he finally gets it together enough to give a response.

“You, uh, flirt with every guy you take captive like this?” It’s meant as a joke, not an insult, and he’s once again pretty lucky that there’s no others around because you’re sure someone would’ve gotten offended on your part. But you find it funny, giggling in response and slowly removing your hand from his.

“Nah, only the cute ones.” You stand, getting ready to head back to your tent. “And trust me, we don’t get many of those around here. Not any that get to live to see another day, anyway. So count yourself lucky.”

Kieran stares at you, as though mesmerized, before finally mumbling, “I do.”


	9. Sorrow [Pregnancy Pt.3] (John Marston)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: there's not nearly enough misery and depression in these stories, why don't I just, angst everything all up? 
> 
> This isn't really meant to be canonical to the Pregnancy parts, I just wanted to write something angsty and painful and it seemed like a good story to do that to so here this is. I'm writing it at 3am because I can't sleep and that's Real Depression Hours. I'll write a little bit of a happier ending for this at some point, I promise, so that people who enjoyed it don't get left with a bad taste in their mouth asfasdfs I'm also more of a sucker for happy endings SO
> 
> Warnings were added in the tags on this but I'll also specify in this note too: This includes death of an unborn child + violence, and some suicidal thoughts; doesn't get too graphic but it can be enough to upset someone.

How could you have ever known it’d turn out this way?

The moment is still a blur in your mind but you can still feel the pain clearly, the way the men crowded around you jeered and punched and kicked and spat. You were a prisoner in their home, and you were treated as such despite your condition; you actually believed your condition made them even more violent and mean-spirited, especially from the way they targeted your bloated belly. All you can do is sit there, arms wrapped around it protectively, hoping that’d be enough and you’d be saved soon.

You felt too weak to do much else.

Hours are spent in and out of consciousness, pain tearing through your body, but mostly through your abdomen. The men had long since stopped attacking you, moving on to drinking and mostly vacating the room you were being held in to do other nefarious deeds. You’re worried about the baby but part of you already knows you don’t need to worry, because it had likely died long ago. Now your body was going through the phases, premature labor, trying to…

You’re not aware of anything happening around you, only becoming conscious when you hear your name called in such a devastating manner. You’re soaked in blood, mostly your lower body, and you’re tired, hungry, in so much pain… You can’t even find the strength to open your eyes, and you’re sure the person holding you right now, practically crying for you to wake up, would think you were dead. It’s better off that way, for you to just die, because once you became acutely aware of how awful your life was about to become, you’d wished you’d just been shot.

When you come to you see a familiar face, Hosea, though he looks grim and worried. You don’t hear anything he says to you, nor do you listen to anything that’s being talked about as people filter in and out. You’re aware that you’re in different clothing now, clean, probably thanks to one of the ladies, and some of the pain has subsided, but otherwise you feel like you’re lost in a fog. There’s a fact following you around, something being screamed at you that you refuse to hear, and you promptly pass out again from the stress of it all.  

Waking up the second time around is when your feelings fully hit, your eyes watering as you looked around the room to try to get your bearings, recognize where you were and if you were safe. John pops into your vision and you feel a sharp pang in your heart, one that made you want to scream, but you keep your lips sealed tight. He’s giving you this sad, puppy look, like he was the one who just gave birth to a dead baby… or was it something more? He looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how to word it, something you’re used to when it comes to him, but you’re not feeling very patient or pleasant today.

You might even consider punching him if he says what’s so clearly written across his face; he was lucky to have Jack. The child of his that got to live, the one he didn’t spend nearly enough time with and who he didn’t give enough of his love to. So what now? Would he leave you, realize Abigail was who he should’ve been with all along? There wasn’t a child tying you to him anymore, so what would be the point in continuing on this painful relationship? It would be easier for him just to leave, and maybe then your injuries from the botched pregnancy would allow you bleed out and finally die.

“I love you.” You hear John whisper, his hand softly stroking your hair.

_‘I love you but I’m leaving you.’_ You think bitterly to yourself, unable to stop the flow of negativity. _‘I love you but I have to be with Abigail and my son.’_

But he doesn’t leave you, the thought never crossing his mind. He’s skirted more than his fair share of responsibilities, but it was always a solid kick in the ass that would be needed to get him to realize the important things in life. He wants to apologize to Abigail for what he’s put her through, he wants to pull Jack into his arms and just _hold_ his son, and he wants to relieve you of all your pain. The first two are easy enough to do, when he finally finds the strength to leave your side, but the last, he fears, may be too far out of his reach.

“What’s it matter to you, anyway?” Your anger is bubbling up now, and he’s the only one to take it out on. You’re almost sorry that he loves you so much that he doesn’t want to leave your side, because you’re about to try to hurt him in the worst way possible. “You didn’t even want this baby. For all I know, this is a dream come true for you. Don’t have the added responsibility of a second kid you can’t take care of.”

The tension in the air is thick and you can tell he’s trying to hold back an angry outburst, his glare piercing but it felt better than the look of pity he’d been giving you this whole time. Maybe that’s why you picked a fight, because it felt better, more honest, like he was gonna hate you and that would help him just get over it. But it wouldn’t, and maybe he wasn’t the best with expressing his emotions, but he knew when and how to silence his anger and replace it with something else.

“You know that ain’t true.” He looks away from you. “I never wanted any of this to turn out this way.”

“Well it did.” Your voice cracks, and you’re barely able to hold back tears now. “Go be with your family, John, just leave me be.”

“You _are_ my family, damn it, and I’m not leavin’ your damn side until-! Until-!”

John lowers his head, not wanting you to see the pain that was so clearly stamped across his face. He’d tried to keep his own emotions in line, his anger, his despair, but it was even harder when you were accusing him of being a heartless bastard and not caring about his dead child. His heart ached at the thought of never getting to meet them, never even getting to give them a name, and he feels even more grief because he knows this has to be the world giving him what he deserves.

Karma.

Karma for not being the dad he should be with the son he already has. For being a thieving murderer thinking he deserves any type of happiness. There were so many things stacked up against him and the worst thing is that he was bringing you down with him.

The room is silent again except for your quiet sniffling as you wipe away your own tears and John’s controlled breath as he tries to hold his in. You don’t say anything to each other for a few minutes but it’s clear you’re on the same wavelength of pain now, but even though it would’ve been simpler for John to just leave the room, he doesn’t. He stays put beside you, his hand moved from your hair to your free hand as he squeezes it.

“What do you think it was?” His voice is quiet, wary, as though he’s afraid of how you might react to the question. You think it over for a minute before answering.

“…think it was a girl. Jack coulda used a half-sister to keep him in line.”

“I can agree with that.”

He wanted to say it would be okay, he felt that it would be, but he knew it probably wasn’t the right moment to say it to you. He gets into a kneeling position by your bed so he could be closer without completely looming over you, and you finally turn to meet his gaze; there’s so much emotion flooding through you, you don’t know what to do with it, and John still doesn’t know how to help.

All he could do was be there, and hope you realized how much he loved you and your child.


	10. Together (Molly O'Shea)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've started at least 5 different stories for this collection today, and Molly's is the only one I managed to finish.Hopefully I can get a few others finished and have them posted so there's more content for less written about characters!
> 
> I've started some for Abigail (potentially NSFW), Charles (one fluff, one NSFW), Kieran (NSFW bc this man needs it), and then one for Arthur (hurt/comfort).

She deserved so much better.

It was hard getting through to her about Dutch, and you had always been wary; you still respected him as a leader at this point, but it didn’t mean you were blind to how awful he was treating someone he supposedly loved. You could tell Molly loved him deeply, even if she could act spoiled, and hearing their arguments around camp lit a fight beneath you. You’d never been one to throw around the word hate, but you think you really hated Dutch when he talked down to her like asking for some affection was the worst thing in the world.

You had been a sounding board for her heartbreak, the only one willing to listen to her, and that was for your own selfish reason. You don’t think you loved Molly, not quite yet, but she did things to your heart that made her special; there was just something about her that made you want to get to know her, to spend as much time with her as possible, and to do a few other things that wouldn’t be approved of as long as she was still with Dutch.

Today’s another day where you manage to sneak away with her, listening to her cry about Dutch and complain that as much as she loves him, she doesn’t know how much longer she can take it. You listen as closely as you can but it sparks your jealousy when she talks about him with such reverence, especially considering how shitty he could be towards her; you kept your mouth clamped shut, and comforted her the best you could, holding her hand and squeezing it or playing with her soft curls as she talked to you.

“I wish he were more like you, you know.” She lets out a sigh. “I don’t think anyone around here understands me like you do.”

“That’s because I make the effort to, Molly.”

A silence falls over the two of you and you can feel this tension, though you’re sure it’s only on your part. It was hard to hide how attracted to the redhead you were, she was so damn beautiful, especially when she smiled, but she hadn’t been doing that much lately. Your eyes drift down to her lips, kissable, irresistible, and you can’t help yourself. Something in you tells you to just do it, go for it while no one is around, despite another nagging voice telling you to slow down unless you ruin your chances to win her over all together.

Molly lets out a gasp as you get closer to her, in her personal space, and press your lips against hers; you’re waiting to be pushed away, to be slapped, but are instead met with the warmth her pressing herself against you. She gives into the kiss easily, her hands resting on your shoulders before they choose to wrap around your neck. It lasts a few more glorious seconds before she pulls away, and you’re left dizzy with infatuation.

“I… I couldn’t do this to Dutch, it’s…”

“He’s done worse to you, Molly, regardless of whether he’s goin’ around kissin’ other girls or not.”

She bites her lower lip, unable to meet your eye and glancing around to see if anyone might’ve seen that little indiscretion. You’re full of regret for acting on impulse now, but it’s not as though you could help your feelings anymore than she could help hers for Dutch; you wanted to treat her right, better, the way she should be treated, and you wanted to translate this over to her without her having to get defensive about her relationship.

She whispers your name, drawing your attention back to her, and to your surprise she’s moved closer to you once more. Her eyes seem a little watery like she’s fighting back tears, but she still leans in to quickly to press her lips against yours again. You don’t move, wondering if this is just a fluke, if she’ll pull back and decide this isn’t what she wants and go back to her spot in Dutch’s tent, but she only presses forward. You can tell she’s getting impatient with you not returning the kiss so you do as she wishes, grabbing either side of her face and pulling her body as close to yours as you could get it.

_‘When’s the last time you’ve been kissed like this, Molly?’_ Your lips move in sync against hers, a soft moan slipping from her mouth as your hand moved from her cheek, her chest, down to her waist to keep her from moving away. _‘When’s the last time Dutch made you feel this good?’_

When she finally moves away a few tears streak down her face, and you quickly rid her face of them, not letting her push you away. She doesn’t try to move, instead basking in the attention you’re giving her, leaning into your touch and absorbing the moment. It’d been so long since she’d been intimate she doesn’t remember how great it feels to be with someone who cares about her, who wants her to be happy and who looks out for her pleasure, too.

“We should head back to camp before we’re missed.” You whisper to her, though you’re not too keen on leaving her like this. The tears had stopped but you can tell she still feels guilty about it all, guilty about wanting to be with someone else who wasn’t Dutch, though you can’t see the problem with that.

“Can we just stay out here? A little longer?” Her voice is pleading, and the suggestion is near impossible for you to reject. “Together?”

“Of course, Molly.” You pull her against you again, guiding her head to your shoulder, one arm sliding around her waist while your other hand stroked her hair. “Together.”


	11. Just for Fun? (Kieran Duffy) [NSFW]

This was a questionable, but you’d been thinking about doing it for a long time.

“W-We shouldn’t- Not here!” You silence Kieran’s worries with a kiss, pressing him into your open tent and quickly zipping it behind you; you’d rather not get caught bringing a freshly freed prisoner into your tent despite the fact you were very attracted to him. You didn’t actually mind getting caught, you were grown and could make your own decisions, but you’re sure Kieran wouldn’t hear the end of it from the rest of the gang.

Plus, there was something even sexier about sneaking around.

“It won’t take long.” You say with a smirk, “Not that I don’t think you can handle me. I’m just _real_ good at what I do.”

Kieran looks like he might faint, gulping but knowing he was completely at your mercy. You lean in for a softer kiss this time, knowing he was nervous for a reason but wanting to give him something nice, something he can enjoy after all the bullshit he puts up with around camp. You don’t know if your feelings for him are genuine or if you just feel bad because he’s the kicked puppy around the camp, but you know he deserves better for the loyalty he’s shown so far.

You hook your fingers into his pants, pulling them down along with his underwear to get to your prize; you’re pleased to see he’s already hard, cock twitching as you briefly glanced at it before meeting Kieran’s eyes again. He still looks like he might faint at any moment, but he’s getting more into it, especially as you dive back in for another kiss. While your lips move against his you reach your hand down to begin stroking him, pleased when he moans into your mouth, hips involuntarily bucking against your hand to get more friction. He was _sensitive_ , which was going to make this even more fun (or a challenge, for him).

You push him onto your cot after breaking the kiss, smiling as he almost whines at the loss of contact; the kissing turned him on the most, even if he was eager to feel your hot mouth around his cock. You tease him for a little longer as you get on your knees in front of him, hand slowly stroking him while you let your tongue flick out over the head, running along the slit and watching carefully as he throws his head back in pleasure.

Definitely sensitive.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, choosing to grip the edge of the cot as you take him into your mouth, stopping midway along to glance up at him. Thinking of a much better use of his hands you grab for one with your free hand, tangling it in your hair and patting it to let him know he’s allowed to do what he needs to while you’re sucking him off. Your attention once more is focused on his cock in your mouth, sliding in as much of him as you could fit while using your hand to cover the rest of the area.

He moans, almost too loudly, as you begin to move along his length, once again fighting the urge to buck his hips as the feeling of your mouth was so _hot_. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s had his dick sucked, it had been awhile so he likely wouldn’t last long, but you being as beautiful as you were, as talented with your _tongue_ as you were, wasn’t going to be doing him any favors, either.

He shoves his one hand into his mouth, biting down to silence himself as you continue to prove to him you hadn’t been lying about your talent, his other hand gripping your hair and trying not to tug too hard. He’s struggling to keep his breaths even, pleasure wracking through his body to an almost overwhelming degree; you seem to like when he whines and acts needy, but he didn’t want to get caught.

“Oh, God.” He cries out, taking one last deep breath as he came; it turns him on even more that you take it all in your mouth, swallowing and even licking your lips after you removed your mouth from his cock.

“You okay?” You help him stand up again, amused to see he’s rather shaky as he pulls his pants back up and makes himself look professional. “Did you enjoy it?”

“I- Yes, of course.”

How could he not? How could he not feel like the luckiest goddamn man in this camp right now? All he can think about is how beautiful your smile is as you look at him now, how you’d done this for him to make him feel good, and he realizes he wants more. Sexually, intimately, he doesn’t care, but you’ve fully got him under your spell now. You can see the hungry look in his eyes, and though tempted to carry on, you know there’s still chores around camp that need tending to, no matter how much you’d like to push him back down on that cot and ravish him.

You could give him something else to look forward to, at least.

“Well, if you stick around here long enough, you can help _me_ out, too.” You purr, grabbing his and guiding it to your pants, so he could feel how wet you were. “But you seem spent, so we’ll save _that_ for another day.”


	12. Self-Indulgent (Abigail Marston)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S APPRECIATE LADIES NIGHT and Abigail just needs.... a break.... I know many people don't like her but I feel super bad for her so have some FLUFF

She should feel guiltier, but she didn’t.

You’re all she can think about as your lips press against hers, one hand cupping her face with your thumb stroking her cheek; all she can think about is how gentle you are, how soft your lips feel against her own, and how her heart burns with desire for you. When you go to pull away she doesn’t let you, the kiss continuing on until her lungs are begging for air. You stay close as you break the kiss, nose rubbing against hers as she gets her bearings back.

This relationship with you had continued on for a bit, something she didn’t think would be steady but would end in just a fling after her and John had officially broke things off. She thought she just needed to be a little more carefree, have some fun while she can, but unfortunately, her feelings caught up with her quickly. She fell hard and fast and she was fully prepared to be hurt, disappointed, and let down again. She’d grown so used to that she couldn’t even imagine a different outcome.

“I missed you.” She whispers, leaning forward to give you another quick peck. “Feels like we ain’t had any time to spend together.”

“Things have gotten real busy around camp, glad we even managed to slip away today.” Her forehead rests against yours, eyes sliding shut. “I missed you just as much, Abigail.”

She had worried at first about Jack, about you being seen as John’s replacement, but her little boy adapted to the situation quickly, and could even sense what the relationship was between the two of you before even she admitted to it. She had no plans of letting John just escape his responsibility of a father, either, something she made clear even with the budding seriousness of her relationship with you, but she was happy to have some more help raising Jack.

“You still makin’ plans like Hosea said? Just in case things with the gang…”

“I am.” There’s something else on her mind, on the tip of her tongue, and her reluctance to say what she needed to say worried you. Abigail was always open with her feelings, she was honest almost to a fault, so you figured there must be something weighing heavily on her mind. “I was just…”

“Say what you gotta say, Abigail.”

She hadn’t wanted to say anything about this situation at all, mostly because she wanted the two of you to enjoy the time spent together. She felt like pushing you into her life plans, potentially pulling you away from something you wanted to do, was a little too much for where the relationship was at. She was finally starting to learn to be happy again, to let her hair down and stop feeling like the weight of the world was on her shoulders, and she didn’t want to lose that feeling.

She didn’t want to lose you.

“Can we talk about it later?” You stare at her, thoughtful, wondering if you should push the topic or just let it be; Abigail’s eyes are pleading, begging you not to push, not right now at least. Taking the hint you nod, managing a weak smile before leaning forward to kiss her cheek.

“’Course we can, beautiful, but remember you can tell me anythin’ you need to.”

Her arms wrap around your neck, head resting on your shoulder as she tries to just enjoy being with you in the moment, for now not worried about the future.


	13. Like A Novel (Mary-Beth Gaskill)

Maybe her head was too caught up in the clouds.

Mary-Beth loved to read, getting through a good romance novel always turned out to be the highlight of her day (when she had the time). She always hungered for more, more romance, better developed characters, and even as she wrote her own novel, she was overly harsh with the content she was consuming and creating. She thought the reason she kept her writing to herself was because she was self-conscious, and it partially was, but something else would probably raise a few flags with anyone else who read it.

Mostly, the main love interest resembled you a little too closely.

She had created characters at first, hadn’t thought about their story just yet but just let what came to mind flow off the page. You were the perfect model for a character, she thought, not too perfect but charming enough that you could capture hearts (of the readers, not her). She listens to some of your interactions with the others, kindness that seemed to come naturally to you despite your status of criminal (the crime? Stealing hearts). Your personality was so strong, so striking, it just resonated with her, made her think about you and realize she really liked you as a character in a romance novel.

Or she just liked you.

She’s finished up a chore or two, knowing there’s more work to be done but wanting to get thoughts out on paper before they disappear. She finds a hidden place, somewhere out of view of Miss Grimshaw, and begins to scribble in her journal, hoping the thoughts are at least coherent.

“Hello, Ms. Gaskill.” She freezes, quickly shutting the notebook and praying the person who greeted her didn’t see it. “Something to hide?”

“Of course not.” She turns to face you, hoping she looks calm. “Do you need somethin’?”

“Just to see your beautiful face, Mary-Beth.”

She giggles, pretends it’s just a joke but she can feel the heat rising to her face, her cheeks are probably pink and she’s realized she’s no good at hiding how she feels when it comes to you. She was so talented when it came to talking her way out of things, to getting information on potential robberies, but when it came to love? When it came to flirting? It wasn’t nearly as natural as it should be; she had tons of lines, some personal experiences under her belt, and she still felt like a muddled mess when you were around.

She manages to hold a casual conversation with you though she wants nothing more than to just smoke a cigarette, but as soon as you’re gone, she wishes you were back. She feels inspired, though, much like she normally is after she speaks with you, and begins to jot a few notes into her journal with plans to further flesh it out later. She wonders how you’d feel about being her inspiration; embarrassed or flattered? She decides she has no plan on telling you anything, not for now, at least.

She feels brazen when she drinks, and she figures maybe she shouldn’t be so bold, but a party was going on after all?

She watches as you walk by, taking a few sips from a bottle before passing it off to someone else; you hadn’t been much of a drinker, which was an interesting detail to her. You always appeared carefree, like you were assured about the future and knew all of what could come, but for some reason, you looked strained now. You could probably use a little more alcohol but she knew you were never one to cover up your problems, no, you liked to face them head-on. Was there anything she could do for you?

She calls out your name, a little apprehensive at first, but feels bolder when you move closer to see what she wants, “Would you like to dance?”

“I’d love to.” You respond, smile charming, absolutely heart-stopping; she inhales sharply, wondering if her heart could take being close to you, but she’s the one who asked you, so it’s not like she could back down now.

It feels so nice to be close to you, so peaceful, like the outside world doesn’t exist at all; she’s taken with you, the way your eyes seem to reflect the stars, your smell: intoxicating, something she could never get enough of. She lingers closer and closer until she’s flush against you, no longer looking you in the eyes but resting her head on your shoulder as you slowly spun her around.

She feels soft pressure on the side of her head, and doesn’t think much of it until she realizes-

“Did you kiss me?” She whispers, pulling away to look up at you with wide eyes. You immediately look embarrassed, regretful, like you’d been caught doing something awful (funny, considering you were part of a gang). “It’s okay-!“

“Sorry, I wasn’t even thinkin’, you’re just so close-”

“No, really, I’m-“ She feels faint, her knees suddenly buckling under her despite the romance novel moment she was having right now, and she’s grateful when it transitions into another romantic moment.

“How many drinks have you had, Mary-Beth?” Your voice is concerned, and having your arms wrapped around her makes her feel so fluttery inside, she doesn’t want this moment to end. You help her find her footing and steady herself. “Maybe you should call it a night?”

You walked her to her bed, helping her get comfortable though she’s more awake than she’s ever been. When you finally leave her alone to rest, she pulls out her journal, writing as best she can in the dark about the moment that had just occurred. She wanted to write it down while the emotions were still fresh, while she can still feel your body against hers.

The next morning she wonders if the dance was just a dream, if the kiss to the side of her head was just her imagination, the wind, anything but you actually showing some type of feelings for her. But why ignore something she wanted so badly? She sees you watching her from the corner of your eye, not looking at her directly head-on, probably still embarrassed from the night before.

Was it time for the protagonist to admit to her feelings? To admit all the thoughts she’d been having, all the things she’s been writing down, inspired by you? And if not inspired by you, thought of with you in mind? She looks down at her journal nervously, wondering if she can trust you, if her writing could even be considered good enough for you to read, and thinking about whether or not you would even understand what she was trying to tell you.

“Here.” She gets into your path, stopping you from walking away as the two people you were talking to go in the opposite direction. “I want you to read somethin’. It’s… important.”

You take the journal, giving it a once over, before Mary-Beth speaks again.

“I-I marked the pages I want you to read.” She points to the little cloth hanging out the end of the journal. “Whenever you have the chance.”

“I’ll read it soon, promise. Can’t keep your journal from you too long, you’ve got a novel to write, don’t ya?”

Her heart flutters as you walk away, though she can’t tell if it’s from her feelings or overall nervousness about sharing her work with someone else for the first time. She hopes you understand what she wrote, she hopes her feelings can translate over well through writing because she certainly can’t seem to _voice_ them properly.

Now all there’s left to do is wait, and hope that maybe she’d get to continue having romance novel moments with you.  


	14. Love Headcanons (Arthur Morgan)

**When they discover they’ve got a crush:**

  * Ignores it and buries it, deep down to where it might never bother him again. He doesn’t think he wants to take another chance on love, not thinking he’s worth much as a lover anyway. It would really only work if the other person pursued him, because he just wouldn’t think it was worth the trouble just to disappoint the other party.



**How they confess/hint** :

  * He would most likely confess only when he was inebriated, but there’s no doubt there’d be hints about how he really cares about you. He’s more likely to give into doing something for you, like if you need him to run into town nearby, and he can make a few slick comments that hint at an attraction to you (but are quickly blown off, or he acts like he never said anything at all).



**How to win their heart** :

  * It’s not an easy task because it doesn’t really have much to do with you doing anything in particular, though he does find someone with a kind heart rather attractive (even if it’s hypocritical to think he deserves someone like that). Being honest with him earns bonus points, even if it’s a hard truth, supporting him when he needs you there, and giving him the same love, respect, and loyalty he gives to you while in a relationship.



**How to break their heart:**

  * To make him feel like he’s not good enough when that’s already how he feels. To openly flirt with and lust after others while he’s around (in a very uncomfortable way, he doesn’t expect you to not feel attracted to other people). Cheating on him would be the biggest deal breaker and there’s no coming back from it in his eyes, because he’s very unlikely to trust you again after that.



**Things that make their heart flutter** :

  * Praising him. He would never admit it but being appreciated, being told he’s things that he thinks he isn’t, is something that really gets to him. He might even believe you if you say them enough. He also likes when he can tell you looked forward to seeing him or spending time with him.



**Their type** :

  * He doesn’t really have a specific type of person, as long as they’re not completely insane and do whatever they want with no regard for other people (especially the gang). He likes people that show a certain degree of loyalty, perhaps some softness towards humanity (it’s a good balance to him, in his opinion), and, well… he does like a partner who’s affectionate, specifically behind the scenes when you’re alone together.



**Goals in a relationship:**

  * It really depends on how close you two get, and how long you’re together. He never thought he’d enter into another romantic relationship and he did, but it won’t be as easy to convince him to have kids in the future for obvious reasons. Marriage would be a little easier to convince him on compared to having kids, but remembering the last time he was engaged, he’d prefer you get married as quickly as possible (to prevent you running out on him? To make sure that it’s real?)




	15. Love Headcanons (Abigail Marston)

**When they discover they’ve got a crush** :

  * It’s a bit more complicated than she’d like it to be, especially when Jack is involved. She knows she deserves to have someone who loves her back, who wants to try and have a life with her, but she’s both afraid of rejection and disappointment in her love life. She would be careful about how she confessed, not wanting to appear to desperate, and also knowing she carried around some extra baggage that others might not see desirable.



**How they confess/hint:**

  * She would really have to just come out with it, going over what she wanted to say over and over in her head. You can tell she was nervous when she approached you and asked to speak to you alone, and you’re even more surprised by the confession. You can tell she didn’t take this confession lightly, nor does she seem to expect you to return her affections.



**How to win their heart** :

  * Don’t argue with her over every little thing, and listen to her when she has worries or complaints. She wants to be respected, to be shown she has worth, and she places a great deal of trust in you, so she’d like if you proved reliable. Getting along with and being a positive influence on Jack would also be a big step in winning her over.



**How to break their heart:**

  * Prove that you’re just like John was, unwilling to commit fully to her and not knowing how to act properly. She would also be conflicted if you wanted to continue being a criminal into the foreseeable future because she does want to settle down, and doesn’t want to keep exposing Jack to violence; it’s hard to break her heart because she’s been through so much she has tough skin, but she also knows when it’s time to finally end it if it comes to that.



**Things that make their heart flutter** :

  * Spending one on one time with you, _just_ the two of you. She likes hearing you talk about the future, especially when she’s involved it, because she knows you’re picturing her as a permanent part of your life. Watching you teach Jack to read, write, or do any other activity is another way to make her smile, heart fluttering as she thinks about finally having a complete family.



**Their type** :

  * She really likes someone who’s strong and reliable, who’s honest with her and actually wants to put effort into their romantic relationships. She wants someone who’s good at heart, too, not perfect but still tries to do everything they can.



**Goals in a relationship:**

  * She’d really like to be married, but she doesn’t push for it until you’re together for awhile and you’ve moved in together (and away from gang life). She’s not sure if she’d want more kids later if that’s possible for the two of you, but she doesn’t close off any possibilities; life had already been a little off the rails, so she didn’t want to pretend she had much control over what the future may bring.




	16. Love Headcanons (Karen Jones)

**When they discover they’ve got a crush** :

  * It’s not something that happens to Karen very often, since it’s very hard to capture her attention, but she just goes with it. She admires you from afar and talks about you with other people, always interested in what others around camp are saying when your name is mentioned. She doesn’t actually think anything might come from it, but it’s fun to indulge in it while it lasts.



**How they confess/hint** :

  * Karen is blunt, and with her love for alcohol, it’s not likely her feelings for you would stay secret for long. It just depends on whether you put much merit into her drunken confession or not; she does flirt with you around camp rather often, seeking out your company when it’s around dinner time or when there’s celebrating to do.



**How to win their heart:**

  * Be a true romantic. Karen isn’t used to getting that slow, romantic shit that Mary-Beth is always reading and writing about, and she wouldn’t even be able to admit she likes it until it’s happening to her. She’d like someone who knew how to have fun with her, too, without just thinking all about sex (though that’s also a fun portion of a relationship).



**How to break their heart:**

  * She braces herself from the start for something awful to happen, which is very unfortunate considering this lack of faith can put a damper on any relationship. Being disrespectful or too pushy with her, crossing her boundaries, and acting like you’re better than her are good ways to piss her off, too.



**Things that make their heart flutter:**

  * She loves when you flirt with her, touch her in cute, intimate ways (like twirling her hair, stroking her cheek, planting kisses across her face). Taking her out on cute dates would make her heart rather fluttery, too, like taking her to see the stars or on a peaceful walk in nature so the two of you could talk freely without interruption.



**Their type** :

  * She likes someone with a good sense of humor and good energy about them, who exchanges in playful banter with her without being too crude or annoyingly pushy. They’d need to be bold, to see her ‘insults’ as just another sign of affection, as she can have trouble properly expressing her own emotions. She’d like having something who’s protective of her, but doesn’t really step in, letting her handle herself and then doting on her afterwards.



**Goals in a relationship** :

  * She’s not very interested in kids or marriage, she just wants a partner willing to travel around with her and see interesting sights. She doesn’t like to focus too much on the future because she never knows what’s gonna happen, insisting on enjoying there here and now for as long as you both can.




	17. Love Headcanons (Mary-Beth Gaskill)

**When they discover they’ve got a crush** :

  * She gets crushes rather easily, finding herself infatuated with all types of people, but you’d have to be truly special and interesting for it to last. She has a tendency to fall in love with the idea of a person rather than the actual person, so when she’s truly interested in someone, she tries to be more realistic about the situation and get to know who they actually are.



**How they confess/hint** :

  * She might not have much confidence in her writing, but it sure as hell would beat her spoken confession. She spends countless days and nights thinking over the perfect words to write down, the ones to win your heart and properly get her feelings across to you, and it would probably take a few months before she finally gives you the final draft. Even then, it could easily be blown off as just a piece of literature and not an actual confession letter, something she’ll happily fall back on should you not feel the same.



**How to win their heart** :

  * Let her in, and be open with her. She’s a woman who loves the little details, and she promises not to use them against you; she just wants a better view of who you are as a person, both good and bad. She likes someone who’s confident in who they are, and knows who they are as a person, but who isn’t ashamed to show their weakness to her.



**How to break their heart:**

  * Shatter her illusion of who you are as a person completely and utterly. It’s a bit easy to break her heart because of her head in the clouds status when it comes to love, but she’s not an idiot. She can tell when you’re lying to her, trying to make yourself look better, or when you’re just trying to play her for a fool. She’ll be long gone before you even have a chance to realize she could tell you were playing games with her.



**Things that make their heart flutter:**

  * She loves dancing to a nice, slow song, being close with her lover, especially under the light of the moon. She likes holding hands, and really likes when you pull her hand up and give her knuckles soft kisses. Hearing you give her writing genuine, non-generic compliments also makes her heart flutter.



**Their type:**

  * She really does enjoy the rough and tough type, perhaps appearing a little frosty on the outside but being truly charming and kind on the inside. She likes someone who knows what they’d like out of life, who attempts to follow their goals and tries to stick to their ideals.



**Goals in a relationship** :

  * She really would like to be married, though she had doubts it would happen before you. She wants a nice, small wedding, having thought about it for awhile after you’d proposed to her. She’s not so sure about kids, but she enjoyed being around Jack, so she can’t say she’s entirely opposed to the idea.




	18. Love Headcanons (John Marston)

**When they discover they’ve got a crush** :

  * He can become infatuated easily, especially if they fit into the range of his type, but he doesn’t have a tendency to fall too hard. He mostly just sees it all as light-hearted fun, which means he’d flirt with you until the cows came home, making it blatantly obvious he was interested in you in some type of way (likely sexual, at first). He’s more likely to talk to you, or seek you out to ask you to do something or about any leads.



**How they confess/hint** :

  * You’d have to be blind or completely oblivious not to recognize his interest in you, since he blatantly seeks you out, asks about you, and flirts with you. Knowing he was serious, however, was a different story. It’s far harder to tell if you’re just a fling to John or if you mean something to him, but if he actually takes the time of day to ask about you, to spend time with you fully clothed, and especially if he tells you that he thinks he loves you, you’ve probably stolen his heart.



**How to win their heart** :

  * If he’s taken an interest in you, just be who you are because he’s adept at seeing when people are trying to act a way that they aren’t. Honestly, being good with a gun would probably make him even more enamored with you. Being open with him, letting him get his piece in even if he seems like a loud, angry asshole, and being understanding of why he thinks the way he does, is the biggest key to claiming his heart as yours.



**How to break their heart** :

  * It’s real hard to tell when you break John’s heart because he covers it well, with bravado and other women. Making John feel less than special, like he’s just any other man that wandered into your life, can make his interest in you fade. He knows he’s not that special, but he’d like to feel like you’d at least be missing him if something happened (and he doesn’t like the thought of being easily replaced).



**Things that make their heart flutter** :

  * He enjoys the simple things about a person, like someone with a charming smile or a cute laugh. He also enjoys teasing, and loves even more if you can give it back to him tenfold. He likes a person who’s expressive, too, whose eyes he can look into and he can just _tell_ that they love him; you can’t fake that.



**Their type** :

  * He likes someone fiery, smart as a whip and quick on their feet. He’d like if they had a similar lifestyle to his own so they could relate to him better, but he’d probably work better with a person who can keep a level head. He’d also need someone willing to be patient and listen to his feelings on things, because he’s not good with explaining how he feels and he needs the other person to understand that.



**Goals in a relationship** :

  * If he actually commits in a relationship, he’d probably enjoy the thought of tying the knot, fully having you recognized as his and only his. Kids might be a bit of a struggle, especially after he already has one, but he does become used to the idea of being a father. He would feel more confident knowing you were right there with him with a steady hand, willing to help him be a good father just in case he strayed off path (but this comes when he’s a bit older).




	19. Love Headcanons (Dutch van der Linde)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, there'll be actual stories in here again soon, I promise! This is a good writing exercise for me personally, so I wanted to do a few for the characters I loved and also need some practice getting into the headspace for.

**When they discover they’ve got a crush** :

  * There’s a bit of a process Dutch goes through before properly selecting a partner, which includes a rather harsh evaluation (he liked all types of people, but he did have to sort out who was most likely to defer to him and who would prove to be too annoyingly headstrong). It’s not easy to tell when Dutch is actually sweet on you because his tone always seems naturally flirtatious, and he looks at you like you and he are the only people in the world.



**How they confess/hint** :

  * His hints are subtle to those who don’t know him, but otherwise, it appears rather obvious if he’s finding himself falling for you. He gets very touchy, brushing against you, touching your shoulders, and can go as far as him kissing your hands in greeting/farewells. If he comes to the point of actually confessing, he comes up with some akin to a poem, weaving into it all the details about why he’s found his heart beating for you, and how he could no longer contain his affections.



**How to win their heart:**

  * If there’s one thing that Dutch stresses is important to him, it’s loyalty. He needs to know you’re in his corner, on his side, and believing in his ideas. He doesn’t mind some dissent, not finding interest in a mindless drone, but he’s more likely to fall for you if you’re a like-minded individual. He’d really enjoy having intelligent conversations with you, feeling like you were just as smart as he was and had the same refined tastes.



**How to break their heart** :

  * Betray him after him admitting his love for you, whether that’s turning him in, selling him out, or cheating with another person. It’ll be the only time anyone sees Dutch struggle to kill a person (if turned in/sold out), because they have a code by God does he love you. He loved you so much, and this is how you treat him? After all he’s done for you to make you happy and keep you taken care of? He laments over the failed relationship because the two of you seemed so perfect for each other, but don’t think that’ll stop him from doing what needs to be done.



**Things that make their heart flutter** :

  * Dutch doesn’t often have the time to spend with you romantically, he’s got a lot on his plate, so someone who actually takes the time to ask him about his day and have him vent his problems to them wins his heart quickly. He’d also fall for a person who gives a good massage, or helps him manage his stress/responsibilities around camp.



**Their type** :

  * Dutch really does like people who seem upper-class (meaning they look rich, but don’t necessarily have to be rich). He likes someone who’s well-read, a little strong-willed but who won’t constantly start a fight with him over his plans. He would want someone adventurous, willing to upturn their own life to travel around with him, and who was hardy enough to deal with the various difficult situations thrown your way.



**Goals in a relationship** :

  * Dutch knows it’s a romantic ideal, but he does enjoy the thought of having something akin to a soulmate in life. He filters through those he’s interested in in hopes of finding the right person, the one who clicks with him best, and helps him achieve all that he’s dreamed of. Going farther than this, he’s not quite sure what he wants, feeling as though he’s raised enough kids for a lifetime even if they aren’t related by blood, but if life happens to have him settle down somewhere, perhaps he’d give the idea a chance.




	20. Use Somebody (John Marston) [NSFW]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh the drama of it all

You were just using each other.

John’s drunk, you’re slightly tipsy, and that makes the perfect formula for bad decisions. You were both hurting, both longing, for attention, the touch of another, love? There had been pining on your part, and you weren’t sure what John might be going through, but it’s clear neither one of you could be with who you wanted. Two lonely souls, unable to fess up, unable to pursue the one they really wanted, who decided to indulge in each other instead because it was _easier_.

John’s quick to pull you into his tent, quickly stripping you of your clothes as you do the same to him; the kiss is sloppy, teeth clashing, lip biting, pure desperation. Your hands rake down his chest, enjoying the animalistic growl you get from him as he pushes you down on his cot. It’s a little too small for the both of you, and you’re almost worried that it’ll snap from the combined weight and movement on it, but he begins to pepper kiss along your neck, fingers brushing against your nipples, and you’ve suddenly got no worries.

“I already know you ain’t thinkin’ of me.” You mumble drunkenly, legs spread as John presses his dick to your entrance. He doesn’t seem to miss a beat, sliding in and reveling in the soft moan you let out as he fills you. He slides in slow, as deep as he can, before looking you in the eye.

“I know you ain’t thinkin’ of me, neither.” He leans forward to initiate another needy kiss, hips beginning to move as you wrap your legs around his waist to get a better angle. You have to admit once he gets the rhythm going he’s good, filling you up almost perfectly, his kisses leaving you with a fluttery feeling in your chest and your lower body burning for release. You’re both quietly moaning, bodies flush against each other, addicted to the warmth of another person.

“It’s Abigail, isn’t it?” You don’t know why you’re trying to interrogate your one night stand, even if the two of you were good enough friends. You’d think it’d killed the mood but John doesn’t stop, not once, mouth busy leaving marks across your shoulder blade. “Don’t know why I ask, I already know.”

“And what about you?”

“…Do you actually want to know?”

“Yeah, wanna know who you’re imagining while _I’m_ the one fucking you.” You roll your eyes, about to reply but letting out a gasp as John hits a sweet spot, back arching. He catches on to this, changing his angle so he can hit the spot easier, the feeling in your belly beginning to build and build, higher and higher, almost to the finishing point.

“Arthur!” You cry out, louder than you want, and John falters for a second, before stopping completely and giving you an incredulous look. You show your unhappiness with his faltering movements by digging your heel into his back, urging him on to continue; he gets the hint and begins to move again, but you can tell he’s deep in thought now.

You pretend it’s Arthur doing this, Arthur above you, pounding into you without mercy, his hands running up and down your body and admiring it like it’s a fine piece of art. You imagine it’s him groaning in your ear, whispering about how beautiful you are and how tight you feel around his cock, and how he can’t wait to make you cum over and over. Your back arches again and your legs tighten around John as you finally cum, whimpering out and trying not to scream Arthur’s name out (again).

John, once you’ve ridden out your orgasm, pulls out quickly, cumming on your stomach and making a complete mess of you. You’re now both drunk AND tired, ready to turn in for the night; you had to mentally prepare for the walk of shame back to your tent. You weren’t ashamed of having slept with John, not like he was that bad in the sack, but you were ashamed you’d used his dick while thinking about someone else’s. At least he used you for the same reason, and there was no misunderstanding about what this was, regardless of how far gone he was due to the alcohol.

You clean yourself up as John pulls back on his underwear and pants, probably about to go out and rejoin the party despite his tiredness. You can tell something’s on his mind as he lights a cigarette, waiting for you to be fully clothed yourself before opening his tent. You both walk out, glancing around the camp, and noting everyone was still relatively far away, gathered around the fire, drinking, and partying.

“You think we’ll actually go be with the people we wanna be with after this?” You roll your eyes as John shrugs his shoulders. “You and Abigail are already halfway there, you just gotta stop bein’ stupid.”

“Seem to be told that a lot lately.” He tosses his cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his foot. “I think you got more of a chance with Arthur than you think.”

That was rather enigmatic of him to say, especially since you didn’t think Arthur had shown any type of interest in you before, but you appreciate his words of encouragement. You pat his shoulder, a funny thing to do to a person you had sex with not even ten minutes before, and go towards your own bed while he returns to the party. There was a silent agreement to keep it to yourselves unless asked, because it was nobody’s business but yours, but you had a feeling something would end up slipping out.

You take one last glance towards the fire, heart swelling as you see Arthur sitting in front of it, the light of the flickering fire making him look even more handsome than normal. You hope you don’t look like you’re longing for him too much, especially when his head turns and his eyes meet yours from across the camp. You’re quick to turn away, rushing to your own tent and hoping he would be too drunk in the morning to notice you’d been staring at him; how would he even know, right? He just happened to look up at the same moment you looked over at him, nothing deeper than that, right?

Right?


	21. Love Headcanons (Charles Smith)

**Charles Smith**

**When they discover they’ve got a crush** :

  * Charles wouldn’t be too quick to act on a crush, mostly because the lifestyle he lives doesn’t really seem to be one where romance can thrive. He also sees the poor relationships occurring around camp, so he’s not sure if that’s what he wants to get into. He couldn’t resist being curious about you, though, listening in whenever he hears someone mention your name to see what they were saying. He would also enjoy spending more time around you, not minding if you came over to talk to him while he was busy (you’re about the only person who can do this without annoying him).



**How they confess/hint** :

  * He’s slightly more talkative around you, willing to hold up a conversation where he’d otherwise want to be left alone. He would think the direct way of confessing is best, just letting you know how he was interested in you romantically, but he finds it hard to think of the right words to get his point across. It takes him a few months before he can finally admit these feelings to you, planning on having you and he be alone so he’s not interrupted by the other gang members.



**How to win their heart** :

  * Be respectful of him and his space, and understand how he communicates is mostly through action. He might not have an arsenal of fancy words to woo you with, but he appreciates simplicity in life, and would like if you were the same sort of way. Someone who is patient and kind would also catch his attention, because he feels there’s a severe lack of that in the world at this point.



**How to break their heart** :

  * Prove to be an awful, selfish person who considers their own needs above anyone else’s. Be disrespectful towards others because of their culture or skin color (he’ll drop you quickly if you prove to be a bigot, without hesitation). If you spread around things he’s told you in confidence, or tease him (in an extreme, he’s asked you to stop and you won’t sort of way) about things he’s self-conscious/worried about, he’ll probably reconsider having you as a partner because trust means a lot to him.



**Things that make their heart flutter** :

  * Being the type of person who’s respectful, and interested, in his people’s traditions. Don’t just talk at him, talk with him, and listen to him when it’s his turn to talk. He actually very much enjoys physical affection, being held or having his face kissed, as long as it’s not in front of too many people (he prefers the romance be kept between the two of you, he feels its something special just for the two of you).



**Their type** :

  * He likes people who aren’t obnoxiously loud, but do know how to enjoy themselves and smile every once in a while. He wants someone with decent enough morals, who doesn’t kill just to kill or for fun, and who has a respect for nature. They’d have to be tolerant, respectful of his space, understand that he likes to be alone occasionally to recharge, and independent enough to take care of themselves if he’s not around.



**Goals in a relationship** :

  * Charles wants a family, and always known he has, but he’s not going to force anything on his significant other. If they’re not interested in children, he doesn’t know what he might do, but he figures he’ll deal with the situation as it comes. He would like to have a simple, traditional wedding, something that would mean a great deal to him if you agreed to it.




	22. The Past Should Stay Where It Belongs (Arthur Morgan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is self-indulgent and a hurt/comfort sort of thing and idk how many of you would be interested in it bc it's heavily based off the fact my boyfriend of three years broke up with me and immediately went to another girl and just... the feeling of being someone's first choice is something that has escaped me for a few months so now I just gotta write fanfic about it lmao

It all started with a letter.

You knew it was from his former flame, the one that had plagued him for a few years and had made it near impossible for Arthur to accept your love because he felt undeserving of it. You can’t say your opinion of the woman is high but neither you or Arthur talked much about her, and for that, you were glad. But now she was back, in some way, shape or form, and you’re not sure if you want to pry. Were you really foolish enough to think that after the years you and Arthur spent together, he’d really just go back to Mary because of a letter? You can’t tell, since his face remains blank as he reads it and he only lets out a little sigh after he’s done.

Arthur tells you himself what the letter says, even letting you read it to prove he’s not hiding anything from you. It wasn’t in his nature to do something like that to you, though he can tell the subject is agitating. You try to keep your face neutral as you read it, it’s pretty standard as a letter but it’s clear she’s calling on Arthur for help with something; help she probably didn’t deserve, considering she was calling on him most likely for the ‘outlaw’ side of him that she so quickly rejected.

You wish she’d just stayed in the past.

“You’ll be goin’, then?”

“…I might.” Arthur is gauging your reaction, probably waiting for some type of fight to break out over it, but you keep your cool. You can feel the jealousy boiling up in the pit of your stomach but it wasn’t your right to control your lover or his actions, and you weren’t going to start acting like that now. You hand him back the letter and give your best smile, though you know he can tell it’s fake.  He could read you so well at this point you don’t know why you bothered lying to him.

“I’d go just to hear out what she wants.” He nods his head slowly, not buying that you’re completely okay with the situation but knowing you’re too stubborn to admit it; shaking his head while a smile tugs at the corners of his lips, he can’t help but feel his chest swell with all the love he has for you. You were a stubborn woman but there was no doubt you were looking out for him. “She starts askin’ you to run away with her you _better_ be runnin’ in the opposite direction.”

“’Course, darlin’.” He leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, relieving some of your worries, but unfortunately, not all of them.

Before he leaves to go talk to her, something he decided for himself he needed to do for more closure of his old relationship, he bids you farewell. He’d be a fool to run out on someone like you for someone like Mary- Mary wasn’t a bad person by any means, but she had proven where her loyalties lie, and Arthur had plenty of time to realize what he wanted from a partner in life. Someone who could accept him for all he was, criminal or not, and who wouldn’t be ashamed of who he is; maybe that sounded stupid, considering the fact he was part of a gang who stole and killed, but that’s why he didn’t entirely blame Mary for leaving him.

It led him to someone who made him feel things he hadn’t known were possible.

“I’ll be back.” You watch him ride off, and from that point on, you’re a bundle of anxiety.

Stupid thoughts, your overactive imagination, continue to plague you as the day goes on about all the things Arthur and Mary could be doing. It doesn’t matter how often your brain informs you that Arthur would never do that to you, all you can see are visions of he and Mary… doing the things that couples do. You’re distracted from your chores around camp, being scolded by Grimshaw (and nearly slapped) more than once, to the point you decide you might as well hide out and hope she didn’t find you again, seeing as you were getting in trouble either way.

When you hear your name being called you flinch, expecting another scolding from Miss Grimshaw but being surprised to see it was another person who wanted your attention.

You should have known the supreme father figure that is Hosea would notice your pacing restlessness around camp, trying to keep yourself as busy as possible as you rid yourself of negative thoughts surrounding Arthur and Mary (and failing miserably at pushing away the thoughts and keeping yourself busy). But you can’t help but have this nagging feeling that Arthur was the one that got away to Mary, just like she had been to Arthur until he found you. A replacement? You probably wouldn’t go as far to say that, especially considering how different you most likely were from Mary (and how many years it had been before Arthur got into another serious relationship). Hosea, though not a relationship counselor by any means, didn’t seem to have much of a problem listening to your worries.

“Has he ever given you a reason to think he’d run out on you?” He asks bluntly, and you look away, flustered. You’re both surprised and not that he managed to immediately pinpoint where you fears lay, it was a very scary power of his that came with years of experience.

“…He hasn’t.”

“I’ve known Arthur a long time, and the man says what he _means_. Yes, Arthur loved Mary, enough to propose to her, but that was the past. Mary might not stay there, but I believe that love will, partly due to the love he has for you and partly because he’s learned his lessons.” Hosea leans back, keeping his eyes on you.

“You gonna pull a Dutch and tell me to have a little faith.” The serious look on Hosea’s face drops, replaced with a smile.

“Faith in this situation would be good, yes, but I’m tellin’ you, you have nothing to worry about here.”

When Arthur returns to camp later that night, you want to be the first to greet him, run up to him and say ‘Thank God you’re back!’ but you think that’d give off the wrong message. You didn’t want to make him feel like he didn’t love you enough just because of your own insecurities, you didn’t want to make him feel bad for re-visiting someone from the past, someone you had to remind yourself came before you were even around. Do you think younger Arthur would’ve fallen for you, or were his experiences with Mary what ultimately led him to you? Fate was a funny thing, doing what it wanted, never seeming to operate in a straight line, but always having people end up where they needed to be.

Made you worry the lot of you may end up at the end of the rope if fate truly was real, but you’re sure now you’re just rambling in your head to make yourself feel better.

You hide out in your tent, thinking about the worst case scenario, wondering what words he could say to break your heart and then you could cushion the blow for yourself. It was easier to think that way about yourself, to not be confident enough to think someone would pick you, because it felt like if you did, maybe the universe really would spit in your face and have him pick her over you. A stupid, foolish thought, made my an anxious brain and a heavy heart that feared the worst, you really were just making this situation… worse than it had to be.

You should’ve asked the other ladies on their opinion of it, but you didn’t exactly want them to know about your inner thoughts, either.

You’re distracted by the two different sides of your brain fighting, telling you to have faith, explaining to you there was no reason to worry and if you were that worried, you should be an adult an actually talk to your lover. Thankfully, the latter option is going to be easy, considering he just walked into your tent to talk to you about it. Your eyes linger on him, going to his lips, and then his feet, suddenly feeling ashamed.

After all the awful things you’d thought today here he was, standing in front of you, just like he said he would.

You feel like you don’t deserve the hug he gives you nor the way he tilts your chin up and leans down to give you the softest, most reassuring kiss afterward. You grab his shirt, the material bunching up under your fingers, and keep him close to you, refusing to let him go. He doesn’t mind the closeness, he never has, and his one hand rests on the curve of your lower back, rubbing it like he normally does when he knows you’ve had a stressful day.

“How’d it go?”

“We talked, I helped her with her brother. Told her about you.” He whispers, his hands finding a comfortable place on your hips; he pulls you a little closer, looking at you with such warmth and affection you feel even more like an idiot for doubting him. “Said she was happy for me.”

“Think she’ll be callin’ on you again?” Arthur chuckles at this, hands squeezing your hips.

“Don’t think so.”

You don’t say ‘Good’ like you want to, instead pressing forward and wrapping your arms around his shoulders to bring him into a tight hug. He’s more than happy to return the love, peppering kisses along the parts of your face and head he could reach; you can’t help but laugh, as this was the exact opposite of everything you’d imagined would happen. There’s some relief in thinking Mary is dealt with, back in the past where she hopefully stays even if Arthur was kind enough to help her out one last time, or you can at least hope. Even if she did ask for more help, even if she missed Arthur and wanted to be with him again, did that matter?

Because he chose you.

And he’d continue to choose you, over and over, even at the expense of his own life.


	23. Relationship Meme (John Marston)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I always give John the short end of the stick so I wanted some cute stuff with him so here it is

**John Marston:**

**Who initiated the relationship?**

  * John’s the one who most likely started flirting with you first, implying he found you attractive and would not be upset to find you in his bed one night. Despite this comment, made while he was drunk off his ass, John is pretty sweet when he’s trying to win some over, his compliments becoming less sexual and more genuine. He would also be the one to try to make the relationship more official, though that might only come after years of being romantic with each other, because he fears he might not be a good enough partner for you. Once he’s over this fear, however, he feels stupid, realizing it just looked like he wasn’t willing to commit, and he even admits he’s surprised you didn’t leave him for that.



**Who kissed who first?**

  * You’re not a huge fan of your first kiss with him, mostly because he was acting a fool, something you realized at some point he did very often. He’s the one who leaned in first, drunk, pressing his lips against yours in a rather sloppy kiss that left you questioning his skills. Still, you liked him, so you simply wiped the slobber off your face and patiently told him you’d like to re-do this moment when he was sober. He’s clearly embarrassed by how he acts and the second first kiss is much more tender, with him cupping your face and looking in your eyes before planting a much less sloppy kiss on your lips.



**Who said ‘I love you’ first?**

  * This comes after a tense moment, one where neither you or John knew if you’d live to see another day. With your life in danger it really makes him realize how much you meant to him, and how little he’s managed to translate that over the years of your relationship spent together. He has plenty of things he wants to say stored in his head, all the things he loves about you, all the things you’ve done to make him happy, to support him, but all his muddled brain can get out is a simple ‘I love you’ once the danger has passed. It was good enough for you.



**Who needs to be touching their significant other at all possible moments?**

  * You’re both the regular amount of touchy-feely, especially in front of the others in camp (John hates being teased by them for showing you affection, but it doesn’t always stop him from doing it). He likes to have an arm wrapped around your shoulder or waist while you’re sitting around the fire together, and when you’re alone he likes to hold your hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb as he looks at you like a lovestruck fool. Which he absolutely is.



**Who likes to cuddle more? (Who’s little spoon? What positions?)**

  * John doesn’t tend to start cuddling because if you’re curved up against him, ass in his crotch, he knows he’s going to get a hard-on and ruin the cute moment. He prefers cuddling with him laying on his back and you laying your head on his chest, one because of the problem above and two because it’s easier to kiss you that way. He wouldn’t mind being the little spoon but he does like to pull you in his arms and wrap himself around you in a protective way.



**Long kisses or short kisses?**

  * John likes long, drawn out kisses, where he can feel your body against his and where his hands can roam around as they please. They always end up cupping your ass, or on your hips, hooking into the waistband of your pants (or roaming up your dress) so he can get some skin.



**Who’s the first to apologize after a fight?**

  * It’s best to leave John alone after fighting with him, even if he said some hurtful things (which is likely to happen, especially if his temper gets the best of him). He always feels guilty afterwards but might avoid you still, as he continues to have issues learning how to use his words when it comes down to it. After a few days, if you’re the first to approach him, he’ll probably sputter out some sort of apology for his actions, telling you he didn’t mean what he said but he’d understand if you didn’t plan on forgiving him. When you point out _you_ were the one to approach him first and say sorry, he laughs sheepishly, realizing he should probably have a little more faith in your bond.



**Who is the flirt? (And who is the romantic?)**

  * John is a good enough mixture of both, but you don’t find him flirting much with other people unless it’s to get something out of them. He’s not that good at it, either, though you guess if someone found a bumbling cowboy trying his best to be attractive they’d fall for him quick. He also tries his best to be romantic, but some of his ideas may fall short or not work out at all; he’s not (entirely) ashamed to ask the other women around camp for some advice when it comes to wooing you or taking you on a date you might actually enjoy.



**Who comforts who more often?**

  * You would likely have a lot to comfort John about, especially when the gang is coming to an end and he doesn’t quite know where life plans on taking him. He also has plenty of doubts when it comes to you, not knowing if he can really take care of you or give you everything you want in life. He appreciates it when you try to silence his worries, promising that things will work out, even if it won’t be an easy road.



**Who wants kids more?**

  * This is a tricky situation. He was never the type of person who imagined he would have kids at all, feeling like he could barely satisfy a consistent partner let alone a child. Things changed after Jack, after he really started to realize he needed to step up, and he finds he does actually enjoy having a little one around when he stops worrying over silly things. He wouldn’t mind having more with you if that’s what you wanted, but he wouldn’t likely bring it up otherwise because it was a complicated situation.



**Who proposed?**

  * You did, much to his surprise. After you propose you joke it would’ve taken him another ten years just to marry you, since he always thought out these great ideas and then never went through with them for one reason or another. He considers saying no because _he_ wanted to be the one to propose, but decided it’s better to not piss you off, and happily accepts the proposal. It’s something you both still joke about years later.




	24. That's Love (John Marston)

Jack being taken was another strong dose of reality: nothing is sacred.

The gang is worked up into a tizzy, clearly unhappy about this direct attack on them, on an innocent boy who knew nothing about the mess the older members had kicked up. You had always felt this would end badly, but not this badly. You were packing up and moving on before you knew it, something you’d gotten better at doing quickly the past few months, and arrived at Shady Belle shortly afterwards, your new home to avoid the Pinkerton’s.

You hadn’t talked to John much since his boy went missing, it didn’t feel right, to bother him when something so serious was going on. You might be his lover but you weren’t the mother of his child, something you felt had always been a wedge between you. It was selfish to think Jack being kidnapped might throw him back into Abigail’s arms, it wasn’t about their relationship, it was about poor Jack and what might happen to him should none of you reach him in time. You wanted him to come back, to be safe, so things could return to how they’d been, but you know that was impossible at this point.

Besides, things had to change, John had to grow up, and this was the perfect thing to do it.

While wandering around the camp during the evening hours, you find John out on the balcony, staring into the trees with a vacant look on his face. He’d barely remember to eat if you or others around didn’t remind him, and you were surprised to even see him around; he was normally out scouring Saint Denis with Arthur and Dutch, looking to find a lead on Angelo Bronte’s location. You were sure it wouldn’t stay secret for long, not with how hard those three were looking, but still. With how much John was lamenting his treatment of his son, you didn’t expect to have the chance to see him at all.

You take a few steps towards him before stopping short, wondering if you should even bother him. It was odd, not talking to him for days like this, and there was an ache in your heart; you missed him, even if you understood the situation and what it was taking out of him. John hears you before you can retreat, turning to glance at you before letting out a deep sigh and removing himself from the balcony.

“Is, uh, is this a bad time?”

“Good a time as any.”

You take a seat on the ground behind him, leaning against the wall and staring up at him as you wait for him to continue. You didn’t really have anything to say, nothing that could make the situation better, so you opted to stay silent unless he wanted to talk to you.

Turns out, he did.

“I’ve just been so pathetic lately.” He finally admits, head in his hands. “To Jack, to Abigail… All of this is just making me realize… it ain’t right. The way I’ve been acting.”

“Yeah, you have been pretty awful.” You weren’t going to lie to him, to sugarcoat it now would just be an insult to him, and he takes your words in stride. He’d probably heard the same thing ten times over, worse, from Abigail herself. He stands up straight, gripping the balcony tightly before turning around and seating himself beside you. “This all… it ain’t your fault, my love.”

You hadn’t used a pet name in a while, normally only bringing it out for special occasions, but this seemed to be one of them. In fact, you hadn’t even realized you did it before you repeated back what you said in your head, flinching. He probably didn’t even want to think about his romantic situation, it just made it all more complicated.

John gives a weak smile, shaking his head, “I don’t know how you put up with me, after all I’ve done… the way I’ve acted.”

“Me? You’re lucky Abigail hasn’t put a bullet in you yet.” Seeing as he didn’t reject your loving name, you reach over to pat his thigh; he quickly takes the opportunity to grab your head, and you fear he might be swatting you away from him. Instead, he laces his fingers with yours and squeezes.

“Don’t know what I’d do without you knockin’ some sense into me.”

“I think this whole thing knocked more sense into you than me and Abigail combined.” You lean against him and he mirrors your movement, gently nuzzling his head against yours. “You can be a good dad to him, John, you’ve got time. We’re gonna get that little boy back.”

“I hope so.”


	25. Soft (Charles Smith) [NSFW]

Charles loved how soft you were.

Trying to have sex around camp was asking for trouble, even at night, but sometimes he just couldn’t resist. He’d pull you close, press his lips against yours, and you were done for, completely under his spell. He’d pulled you a ways out, somewhere in the woods where you were least likely to get caught, and situated you behind a thick enough tree that you could see someone coming a mile away from they caught you both. He places down his coat on the ground, sitting himself on top of it and quickly having you straddle his lap, managing to never break the kiss with you.

“You’re real impatient tonight, ain’t ya?” You’re breathless, lower body grinding against his and you feel his hardening erection pressing against your warmth; he’s struggling not to buck his hips into yours, but if Charles is anything, it’s patient. He might have been quick to pull you away from camp but that didn’t mean he was going to give you what you wanted as quickly as you thought he would, though he can’t deny he’s ready to rip off your pants and pound into you until the sun rose.

You’ve made the experience a little more easy since you’d slipped into your bed clothes before Charles grabbed you, the loose shirt easily unbuttoned (though your pants stay in place for now, as Charles doesn’t seem to want to remove you from his lap just yet). He doesn’t completely remove the shirt as all he really wants access to are free now, his fingers gliding up your bare side, briefly squeezing your hips before they trail up to your breasts.

You try not to shiver as his hands glide over the soft flesh of your chest, circling around the sensitive skin of your nipples but not giving his full attention to the hardening peaks yet. He was almost marveling at how soft your breasts were, squeezing them gently, enough to not make you uncomfortable but also leaving you begging for more.

“So soft…” He whispers in awe, something that makes you laugh; the two of you might have indulged yourself on some alcohol before running off from the camp, but hey! Sometimes you needed to let _loose_ and have _fun_.

“There’s something else nice and soft and warm waiting for you.” You whisper in his ear, nipping at the lobe and eliciting a moan from him. He continues to fondle your breasts despite this, thumbs slowly brushing over the sensitive peaks in a teasing manner, leaving you a squirming mess in his lap. If he wanted to play this game…

You run your fingers through his hair, gently scratching against his scalp and you feel him move to where your hands are, letting out little moans of approval at what you’re doing. Your fingers run down through the silky mess of hair, halfway down the full length when you tug on it. Your tugs start out gentle, until you tug a little harder than normal, just the way he likes it, and he lets out the loudest moan you’ve ever heard come from his mouth. He pinches your nipples in retaliation before his hands slide down to your hips, finally tugging at your pants.

“Finally.” You growl out, but he hushes you with a kiss.

“If you think you’re getting what you want so quickly,” His lips brush against your throat, down to your shoulder where he gives you a loving bite. “You’re wrong.”

You were in for a _long_ night.


	26. Damsel in Distress (Arthur Morgan)

“I’ve got a present for ya.”

You regard him curiously, but he shakes his head, telling you now’s not the time. He was planning on heading out with John, doing some type of reconnaissance, and he didn’t want to give you this present with such little time to bask in your enjoyment of it. You’re left curious, a little anxious, but you know he absolutely won’t budge on spoiling his surprise; you don’t know if you want to spoil even if you are curious, because there’s a glint in his eye, he really looked excited at what he had to give you.

So you did the only thing you thought to do when you needed a distraction, and that was head into the nearby town to the saloon.

“Karen!” You call out the blonde’s name cheerfully, and she turns to you with a look that says ‘please take me away from all this work I have to do around camp’, “How about you and I go into town?”

“Sounds good to me!”

You thought your trip to town would be nice, easy, you could gather up some supplies to bring back to camp while also having a drink with a good friend. You could’ve even picked up a few tips for robberies, maybe even checked out some new equipment, but the day didn’t plan on going your way. You mentally apologize to Arthur, knowing if you had just been patient and stayed in camp, none of this would’ve happened.

But how were you supposed to know you’d end up in a situation like this.

“Excuse me, Miss, but I think me an’ your daddy know each other.” You try to hide how your body has tensed, hand drifting down to your waist to grab your gun for protection, but a rough hand quickly stops you. You turn to look into the eyes of your assailant, trying not to gulp as you realize it’s exactly who you thought it was, and also the exact worst person to run into without anyone around to help.

Your father was a pretty popular fence back in the day for stolen goods, meaning he interacted with plenty of dastardly folks (Dutch included, which is how you ended up traveling around with them in the first place) but it also meant he had plenty of enemies, too. You weren’t surprised than an old enemy of his had found you, nor were you surprised when they talked about a _ransom_.

This day was really not turning out how you wanted it to.

You’re thankful Karen has the sense to stay away, to watch covertly from off to the side, trying to hear where they’ll be taking you or at least get the general location. You’re too distracted by the iron grip on your arm, the one that steers you out of the bar and quickly takes away your weapons and all other means of protecting yourself. Your arms are tied behind your back and you’re placed in the back of the wagon, a silent warning being sent your way: scream, and you’re as good as dead. Survival instincts kick in and you keep yourself calm, trying to convince yourself that things will be okay. Karen was on her way back to camp to inform them of your unfortunate situation, and then… well, hopefully, someone would feel inclined to help you out.

The camp isn’t too far outside of town from what you can see, and it’s in an open area, one where they could easily be attacked from the tree-line. You’re not shocked this gang seems unprepared and open to attack, they seemed like newbies at this (though you did travel with a group who’d been around for twenty or so years, so maybe you couldn’t judge too harshly). You just hope it means they’re easier to find, especially as you’re shoved into a cabin and tumble to the ground.

You make jokes in your head as the two members set to keep an eye on you rough you up.

_‘I really don’t like it rough, huh?’_ You think as they yank you off the ground by your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat, running a sharpened knife over the skin. When you refuse to easily comply with their wants, asking you if you belonged to the Van der Linde gang (something you’d also denied when their leader first asked, insisting you traveled about it alone after running away from home), you’re hit across the face once, twice, three times before being tossed to the ground again. _‘That’s gonna bruise.’_

As the sky grows dark your fear grows, a heavy pit forming in your stomach as you think that maybe no one is coming. Maybe they couldn’t find you, or maybe you were expendable. Maybe something happened to Karen and she never managed to get back to the rest of the gang. You try not to panic, even as the guards talk about how enticing you look, how easy it would be for them to use this knife to rip apart your clothes- You block it out, just like you block out the pain of being kicked and berated.

You either zoned out into imagination land or passed out from the pain, you’re not sure which, but when you open your eyes again your heart soars; you can hear a pair of familiar voices.

You can hear _Arthur_ , though you can’t make out what’s being said, and the person who’s attempting to guard you is also trying to listen in to the conversation. You know they’re probably denying that they have you, playing dumb as though that’d fool anyone, but that would only piss him off more. You’re not above using a distraction to your advantage, eyeing the guard carefully as you wiggle around in the ropes attempting to constrain you; they’d been tied poorly, something else that clued you in to them being new at the whole kidnapping thing, and soon enough you’ve loosened them enough to slip out. You make sure the rope doesn’t thump too loudly on the floor, but voices were getting raised outside, meaning the sound was near indistinguishable, especially to someone who wasn’t paying attention in the first place.

You weren’t a fan of killing, avoiding it when possible, but you felt this guy _really_ deserved it. Not only had he tortured you and threatened you with rape, he had implied he’d done this to other women, too. There’s no way the world could benefit from a person like that living in it, which is why you take the knife they had previously used to threaten you and dig it deep into the neck of the distracted guard. You use all the strength you have to pull the larger man away from the window, don’t want to alert anyone else and have them swarm you, and quickly pull the knife out as the guard begins to choke on his own blood.

The idiots had also left you in the most important cabin in the area, the one that had all their cash and their plans; they should’ve learned to hide those better, though you don’t think there’ll be any left alive after this interaction to make good use of them. As you’re gathering up all the useful information you can, even finding some cash you could take for the emotional trauma bestowed upon you, you hear heavy thudding foot steps approaching the cabin door. You thank the Lord above for your ability to think quickly and dive into the darkest corner of the room, hidden behind the side of a thick dresser; you’d have to remember to check in there for some extra goodies, too. You hold your breath as a rival gang member enters, his eyes scanning the room in mild alarm after he spots his dead buddy.

He lets out a surprised yelp, calling out to the others, and that’s when the shooting starts. You stay hidden away, not having a gun yourself and knowing you’d only get in the way of this firefight. You hadn’t seen too many men around the camp, so you figured this wouldn’t take long; you were indeed correct, figuring the fighting was done when the bullets stop flying and you hear your love calling out your name.

The minute you call out to Arthur he finds you, looking at you briefly with relief (you were alive!) before his face contorts back into being upset. He’s gentle as he cups your cheek, looking at the newly formed bruise on your face, but you brush off his worries, telling him you’re fine even as you follow behind him hunched over, arm across your bruised ribs that made it hurt to stand up straight. Riding on a horse was even worse, but you did your best to ignore the pain, burying your face in Arthur’s back and taking in his comforting smell; it might’ve only been a few hours, but God, had you missed him.

The thought of never seeing him again was something that had run across your mind, and had made you miss him even more.

“I’m alright, I’m alright!”

A few members of the gang surrounded you, including Hosea and Grimshaw who seem to think you need to be checked out. You know the question of rape is on their mind but you quietly deny it to them, promising all wounds you had could only be healed by time. Arthur is the one who pushes the crowd away, ordering them to give you space before he walks you to your tent and sits inside with you, like some sort of guard dog ready to strike if anyone got too close and bothered you.

You’re sure that, even after just a few hours apart, he had missed you, too.

“So, what about that gift?”

Arthur looks absolutely baffled by your question, then looks away, realizing he had completely forgotten (for a damn good reason, but still). He seems to hesitate before reaching down into his satchel, closing his fist around something and telling you to hold out your hand. He kneels down in front of you.

“Had a better plan to ask you, even practiced it, but, uh…” He presents the sparkling ring to you, not meeting your eyes. “I was wonderin’ if… you’d wanna marry me?”

“Yeah, _of course_ I’ll marry you.” You reply, your heart soaring; you remember how excited he had looked this morning, and knowing that excitement was because he wanted you to be his wife- you were almost on cloud nine, aside from your aching face and ribs.

“This isn’t really the way I wanted to ask.”

“Well, things don’t always go the way we want them to Arthur, so at least I said yes.” You lean over to kiss his forehead, cringing a bit at the way it seemed to make your ribs crack even more. He shakes his head pushing you back and helping you carefully lay down, wrapping you up in a blanket so you can be comfortable without having to move too much.

“You’re right,” He finally laughs, “At least you said yes.”


	27. Fate Bound (Arthur Morgan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's up y'all this is 2.5k words long which is astounding for me, I just had the idea while playing (I'm in Chapter 5 so my heart is breaking) and I wanted to write my own happy ending so... here it is!

You remember meeting the blind old man a long time ago.

“You’ll be swept away in a storm… Everything you know will be questioned, but in the end, you will find that which you have always desired.”

It had been a bit before you’d actually joined the Van der Linde gang, and you realized how much his words had actually made sense, though you couldn’t be sure entirely what he had meant. Did he mean you’d find a real family? You thought you loved your family well-enough, everyone got along, you even had a strong bond with your three younger brothers. The gang was a different type of family, sure, but what else was it that you desired?

Love? Trust? Protection?

It had plagued you for years.

While hunting a bounty a few years after that first meeting, now fully ingratiated in the gang, you found the old blind man begging once more. You’re amused to see him once more, wondering if he was some type of ghost, set to wander along this particular path begging for money to give a reading of the future. You approach carefully, nearly jumping as the old man addresses you without you realizing he knew you were there.

“You and I have met once before.” He seems amused, holding out his change container. “A dollar for the future?”

You didn’t think his first prediction had come true, what storm had come your way? You hadn’t found life any tougher than it’d been before, though he was right about everything you knew changing; running with a bunch of criminals did that to a person, made them rewire the way they saw society, and perhaps question their own morals and shortcomings. Deciding it’s not that much money to waste, and this poor man looked like he needed a deal, you happily give him the dollar and listen closely.

“You see a person who to you is a shining star, but to them, you are the star that shall shine and bring them what they seek.”

Who in your life was a shining star? You feel like Arthur would be too obvious an answer, of course you loved him, but could it relate to another member of the gang? Hosea had done so much for you, taught you plenty of what he knew so you could take over as the gangs doctor, or perhaps Dutch, who had been the one to bring you into the fold in the first place; if it wasn’t for him, you never would’ve had the chance to meet Arthur.

“Perhaps it is fate.” The old man suddenly says as you’re stuck in thought, “But life has more than one path, and perhaps, you’re more tied down to it than you see.”

You trot away on your horse, even more confused now with the two for one mumbo jumbo bullshit the old man just threw your way. Was it bullshit? Also, did he just read your _mind_? A shiver runs through you and your heart suddenly feels heavy, and you quickly whip out your own journal, carefully writing all the old mans words you’d been told. You had considered telling Arthur about it when you were back at camp, but grew embarrassed, especially since you really believed the mans words might come true one day in the future.

“Somethin’ on your mind?”

That night when you got back, Arthur almost instantly calls you out, since you’re so caught in your thoughts you don’t talk to anyone who’s trying to start a conversation with you. You shake your head in denial, but stop midway, wondering what the point of lying to him was. You’d said and done plenty of stupid things in front of him before (he’s the one who first taught you to fish and hunt, and you, a person who had never done those things, looked like an absolute fool to a man who’d been doing it damn near his entire life), so why be embarrassed now to talk about it?

“You believe in fate, Arthur?”

“What?” He says it in his _‘what are you on about?’_ tone, and you almost backpedal again, but something compels you to keep going.

“Fate, you know? Destiny? Things that are gonna happen whether we want them to or not.” You shift on your bed where you’re sitting, and Arthur takes a seat beside you, looking down with a soft look that only you were lucky enough witness.

“One of these idiots makin’ you worry again?”

“Nah, nothing like that… there’s just this old man I run into from time to time, and he says weird, indecipherable shit but… I dunno, I feel like they might be important one day.”

“Well, what’d he say?”

You show Arthur your journal reluctantly, trying to read his facial expression as his eyes drift over the few sentences on the page over and over.

“In the end you will find that which you always desired?” Arthur closes your journal and hands it back to you, “What’s that mean?”

“I did just tell you I have no idea, didn’t I?” You playfully elbow him and he chuckles. “I don’t know, I just have a feeling this is where I’m meant to be, you know? Here with the gang, with you.”

“Aw, sweetheart, you’re gonna make me blush.”

“Me bein’ romantic with you isn’t even in the top ten things I’ve done that should make you blush.”

You both move to lay down on your shared cot, Arthur’s arm stretching out to provide a suitable pillow for your head as you lay on your side, facing him. Your arm snakes across his chest and you nuzzle closer, loving the warmth, the love, that you’re feeling in the moment. There was nowhere you’d rather be than in the arms of the man you love, there was nothing

“You think we woulda met some other way if I never joined the gang?”

“Maybe.” With how tired he must be, you knew you probably wouldn’t get much more out of him, but he’d told you before he enjoyed your ramblings, so you kept going.

“I think we might’ve. Could’ve met in any one of these towns if I started explorin’ around myself, or you mighta saved me from some other gang and we’d meet, love at first sight, you wouldn’t be able to get me outta your head, and boom! You’re lookin’ all over for me and you find me and promise you’ll never let me outta your sight again.”

“Is that right?”

“No, probably not. I had to work _damn_ hard to get you to love me back.”

“Always loved you back, darlin’. Just didn’t think I deserved it.”

“You deserve my love and then some.” You can see him smile at that, at the love you showed him so often with such earnestness he had to believe it. You remain curled up together that night, basking in the good feelings of being together, being with your little makeshift family, and seeing nothing but a bright future.

Things turned bad faster than you could even think, faster than you could comprehend, and soon you didn’t know what you should do. Your loyalty to Arthur remained strong and true, steadfast, you could never give up on him or leave him even if you wanted to. But he wanted you to, he needed to know you were safe and away from the danger; it wasn’t because he didn’t think you could handle yourself, but because he knew you’d be a target, because hurting or even killing you would be the thing that’d hurt him the most.

He had to keep you **safe**.

“What am I gonna do without you?” The question is rhetorical because you knew your life wouldn’t stop, you’d never stop moving forward, but you wanted to do it with him. Arthur looks downcast, so damn tired you wish you could just curl up with him and sleep for a week, or until the end of this fighting with the gang. The choice to leave you here, at this homestead you’d bought together while planning for a future away from the gang, wasn’t one he wanted to make. You know he’d never leave you unless he felt it was the only option.

“I’m sorry.” He finally mutters out, “Sorry for bringin’ you into any of this.”

“It was my own choice to stay.”

“You wouldn’t have stayed if I didn’t.” He lets out a deep sigh, glancing over at his horse, who’s awaiting almost anxiously. “Stay safe out here, okay? I’ll come back when things are… over with.”

“You better.” You had managed to keep it all inside, keep your emotions to yourself as the logical part of your brain told you this was the best way for it to happen; Arthur could think and plan better without having to worry about your well-being, knowing you’re as far from the action as possible offered him more peace of mind than being with him would. And still your heart aches, your eyes watering and voice cracking as you turn to face away from him, not wanting him to see the tears flooding your face. “I love you, Arthur Morgan, and you better come back to me. I’ll follow you right into hell if you don’t.”

“It won’t come down to that, I promise.” There was no way for him to know that, it wasn’t his decision to make, it was up to whatever mighty force above controlled the events that were transpiring. He gets closer to you and you shy away from his touch, quickly trying to brush away the remaining tears before he notices them. “I’ll be back.”

The thing that kept you going the most was the kiss he gave you before he left, the way both his hands cupped your face and gently moved your face so that you’d look him in the eye. You can see the fire behind his eyes, the promise that, within reason, he’d do all he could to make it back to you. The kiss is filled with searing passion, the words _‘you’re the love of my life’_ floating briefly across your mind and you wonder if the sentiment is shared.

You know it is.

You try not to keep track of the days, knowing it’d only bring you more pain the longer he wasn’t back with you. There was a lot of tension, a lot of mistrust occurring between the gang, and every night, you lay in bed worrying about what might be happening to him. And what about all of those that you had loved? Saint Denis had taken away a father figure, it had put John in a bad spot, Dutch was unraveling… It took all your energy to keep it inside, to push it down and try to worry about it another day.

You took to studying how to be a doctor, though it wasn’t easy; you had to find one willing to teach you out where you were, and for little money. You had to think of a life beyond being a criminal, and even got back in touch with your family, though you wondered if you should be more worried about being tracked down. They helped you as best they could, your brother coming to help you start growing your own food, helping you hunt up enough meat to last for awhile and pelts to sell for money should you need it.

There was never a day you didn’t think about Arthur, not a day where you didn’t worry and wonder where he might be and if he was thinking about you, too.

You were riding down a familiar path, trotting along, looking for rabbits or deer that could make for a good meal. As you were glancing around you hear a family voice, one you hadn’t heard for quite awhile, to the point you almost didn’t remember him.

“Old man!” You called out cheerfully, and said old man turned to where you were, crooked smile on his face. “You wanna give me some more advice from fate, or whatever it is that you do.”

He holds out the cup, pleased when he hears the tinkle of change dropping into it, before giving you exactly what you came for, “The happy future that you seek remains within reach, the pain, the fear, the unknown, it will plague you but the worst is over. It has all arrived.”  

“Thank you.”

You take the long way home to mull over his words, wondering if you could decipher exactly what his prediction might mean; could it be as simple as you thought? Would your love be coming home soon, so you could start having a future together? Or would you finally be able to find a job, to find a way to put more good into the world to make up for all the bad you’d done while running with the gang? You approach the house without realizing there’s a horse outside until you’re on your front porch, staring at it and wondering if it’s a wild one; it’s clearly not, since it has a saddle, but who would’ve dropped in to visit you like this?

You walk into your house and see a familiar face, one you’d seen in your dreams each night, one you had started to wonder if you would ever see again.

You move towards Arthur and nearly knock him over with how hard you run into him, arms wrapped tightly around him with the threat of never letting go again. Arthur holds you with the same urgency, the words _‘I missed you so goddamn much’_ floating through the air without either of you having to say a thing. The old man’s words come back, they hit hard, _‘the happy future you seek remains within reach’._

Your happy future had just arrived, right in front of you, alive and well, back from an impossible situation.

“I can’t believe you’re finally here.” You cry, and you don’t bother trying to hide it. Arthur’s face remains buried in your hair, and you feel some wetness trickle down, leaving you to wonder if he might be crying, too. You don’t bother asking because it’s not important, what was important was he was here, with you, and there was no way you were letting him leave you like that again. “Is it over, Arthur? Is it all over?”

“For now.” The words are a heavy hit, they tell you more than you would know, but you don’t pester him further. There was a lot to still be said, you would get the full story out of him even if you had to pull his teeth to get it, but for the time being, you know he needed to rest.

“Let’s sit down, let me make you something to eat.” You go to move away but he doesn’t let you, easily pulling you flush against him.

“Can we just… stand here like this, just for another minute. You’ve got no idea how long I’ve been waitin’ for this.”

“’Course, Arthur.” You lean into his touch, suddenly feeling needy, not wanting to leave his familiar warmth. “We can stand here as long as you want. I think… I’ve been waitin’ for this just as long.”


	28. Lessons (Sean MacGuire)

You and Lenny had been trying to teach Sean how to read, but to no avail.

It didn’t come to him quick and easy, and if it didn’t do that, he lost interest quick. He became shifty much like a child when you tried to teach him, and often gave up after one or two sentences. You had even helped Jack when he first started to learn, and he was a far better student than Sean was proving to be. You remember, though, when first teaching Jack, you promised to bring him little presents from town if he did good; sometimes he requested books, other times something as simple as candy. Maybe the same thing would work on Sean?

“Come on, Sean, when we doing some reading?” Hearing Lenny address your unwilling student, you’re quick to join the conversation, knowing you’d rather be teaching him than doing any chore around camp at the moment.

“You’re never gonna learn if you don’t keep at it.” You offer up, “And before you even try to say ‘I got it’, no you don’t.”

“Nothin’ slips past you, eh?” Sean rubs his face, looking uncomfortable as you and Lenny look at him expectantly. Your earlier thought, about a reward system, comes to mind and you wonder if it’s too bold a move, but then remember you live amongst a criminal gang who never knows when a day might be their last. You move so you’re standing directly in front of Sean, looking him right in the eye, and you lean forward to kiss him.

Lenny lets out a startled noise and Sean’s confused cries are muffled against your lips. You worry that this might be going too far, perhaps you were too bold to assume he’d want a kiss from you, but your fears are assuaged when he tries to deepen the kiss. You give him a few more seconds of action, even letting his hand drift down to your ass to give it a quick squeeze before pulling away.

“What was _that_ for?”

“Motivation.” You take another step back so you’re standing beside Lenny, patting your shocked friends shoulder. “If you practice with us and say, read us an entire paragraph, I’ll give you another kiss.”

“And what if I read the whole book to ya?”

“Well, then you’ll get a _real_ special prize. Let’s start out slow, though, don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“I’ll be a readin’ machine after this, just you wait.”


	29. Family (Arthur Morgan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: desperately writing more fluffy stuff for Arthur as I approach the end of RDR2 and try to ignore his actual fate

If you thought one kid around camp was a disaster waiting to happen, just imagine there being two.

The pregnancy was accidental, coming years after you and Arthur had gotten together, and it’s not like it had been unwanted. He was still hesitant when it came to the thought of being a father again, he had long since confided in you about Eliza and Isaac, his failure to protect them, his failure to even be a proper father, but you had comforted him best you could. You wouldn’t force him into something he didn’t want, but he did want a family, with you, he just didn’t know when would be the most ideal time to do so. Your lives weren’t exactly perfect for raising a child, but in the end, you two didn’t have much of a choice.

Arthur looked almost afraid when he held your daughter for the first time, treating her delicately (she _was_ just a baby), looking almost unsure of what he’s supposed to do. When there weren’t others around, when he really had the chance to get comfortable, to feel as though he wasn’t being watched and judged, he rested her against his chest and looked content. He was happy to have another chance at fatherhood, even if he believed he didn’t deserve that chance.

Her and Jack got along well, almost a little too well; the two had a tendency to wreak havoc across the camp, especially if they were fighting over something. Such a thing was happening now, and while Abigail gathered up Jack to scold him for causing a ruckus, your young Olivia was not having it.

“Go to the tent, Olivia, or you won’t be seein’ the light of day again.”

“I don’t wanna.” Your three-old rebels, and you search the camp for her father, the stern one. Arthur sees your look from where he is talking to Javier, and excuses himself from the conversation, approaching you and Olivia.

“Go to the tent.” Arthur says in his gruff, don’t talk back to me voice, the one he sometimes uses when he robs people; Olivia listens almost instantly, toddling her way to the tent while you follow close behind her.

“She really don’t like to listen to me.” You pout, glancing over at Arthur as he enters the tent with you.

“That’s because you don’t punish her; she knows she can get away with it.” Arthur crosses his arms after sitting Olivia down on her bedroll and holding out a finger to her, telling her to stay put until she was given permission to move.

“No, _you_ just have a meaner face than I do.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

You and Arthur both seat yourselves comfortably in the tent, using the time together to catch up on what’s been happening and what the other is doing. He’s normally out, busy hunting or robbing or doing anything he can to earn money for the gang and to take care of the two of you. You stuck around camp for the most part, figuring your stagecoach robbing days were over after you’d had Olivia, though you’d jump at the opportunity to go hunting or fishing with Arthur alone. An hour passes when you finally decide to let Olivia up again, ordering her to stay close to camp since the sun was setting and it would soon be dark.

“Let’s go sit out by the fire.”

You and Arthur sit down on the log positioned in front of the fire, Uncle and Javier already gathered around, Reverend Swanson joining soon after. You’re more than content to just listen to the conversation, Arthur poking fun at Uncle’s inability to be useful, Javier laughing along with them, and the good ol’ Reverend drunk off his ass again. It’s not long before it’s time for dinner and you call Olivia over to eat; this time she doesn’t rebel, because her father is right behind you, giving her a look that says listen or you don’t get to eat tonight.

“Such a cute little girl, ain’t ya?” Karen coos after joining you three around the campfire with her own bowl of food, pinching Olivia’s cheek playfully with her free hand, causing the little girl to burst into a fit of giggles.

“Takes after her mother.” Arthur states, picking up your daughter who had previously been running around the fire and sitting her on his one leg, where she made herself comfortable. “Good thing, too.”

“Hush.” You hold up a spoonful of food to Olivia’s mouth but she turns away, leaning back against her father and going slack against him. She liked to lounge on him, almost instantly flopping whenever he picked her up or held her because she knew he liked to cuddle with her. Arthur shakes his head, not able to keep the smile off his face even if he is about to scold her; he kisses the side of her head, making her sit up straight even if she would prefer to be a boneless creature.

“Eat your food.” He takes the bowl from you and feeds Olivia himself; you don’t say it out loud, but you’re endlessly grateful that Arthur took an active part in your daughter’s life. You couldn’t imagine all the trouble Abigail had to go through raising Jack herself, as it was stressful enough raising Olivia with the two of you. “Good girl.”

“You know what, we’re gonna have another kid, it’s gonna be a little boy, and he’s actually gonna listen to me.”

“Don’t curse yourself now,” Karen laughs, “It’s real cute to see Olivia bein’ daddy’s little girl.”

You had to agree with her on that one, knowing they’d had a deep bond from the moment she was born. Arthur was the one who woke up in the middle of the night without a second thought, changing her or cradling her until she fell back asleep, only waking you up if she needed to be fed. He’d been completely on top of it all, and seeing her chubby little face was one of the only things that made him light up after a long, aggravating day. She only ever seemed to calm down from her crying fits when he was the one to hold her, and you swear you’d even caught him singing to her once; he refuses to admit to it, but you _know_.

When the food is done, everything around camp beginning to wind down, you glance over to Olivia to see her yawning. She would refuse to go to bed if you tried to make her to now, so you stay sitting around the fire, leaning against Arthur and listening to Javier as he strums his guitar and hums out a tune. You feel yourself falling asleep, eyelids growing heavy, and you pray as you look down at your daughter that she’s finally asleep; thankfully, she is, curled up against Arthur’s chest and holding tightly onto his shirt.

“Ready for bed?” You ask him, and he nods his head, carefully standing so as to not disturb Olivia’s sleep.

You tuck her in, checking the time and hoping she might actually sleep in a bit tomorrow since she fell asleep so late. You can still hear the tune from Javier’s guitar as you zip the tent shut, smiling as you wonder if Olivia will remember how often she fell asleep to Javier’s playing once you left the camp officially. You’d been making plans with Arthur for awhile now to leave the group when it was convenient, most likely whenever Dutch decided to enact his plan to go to Tahiti, where the two of you preferred to stay in America if you could help it. Arthur had been loyal to Dutch for so long you never thought he’d go for leaving when you first suggested it, but you couldn’t help but think after the birth of your daughter, his priorities had changed.

You lay down beside Arthur, making yourself comfortable as he lays on his back beside you.

“Finally got you all to myself.” You throw an arm across his chest, cuddling closer as he makes more room for you to get closer to him. “It’s nice, havin’ a family and all. Ain’t really normal, but it’s nice.”

“I… I’d have to agree.” Arthur clears his throat, . “Never thought I’d get to… you know, be a dad. A real one, not just one who…”

“I know.” You move your hand to where his cheek is, stroking it, enjoying the feeling of his stubble against your hand. “You’re a good dad, Arthur. A great one, even. I’m real proud of you.”

“You’re a good mother.” He responds, leaning into your touch. “Even if Olivia don’t like to listen to you.”

Arthur hears your breathing change as you finally fall asleep, falling in line with the sound of his daughter, curled up against your back. He noticed she had a tendency to move around in her sleep, and since he was the first one up in the morning, he always got to see the cute scene of his two greatest loves in this world curled up together. He’s still afraid, afraid that this happiness will be ripped away from him, that either you or Olivia might disappear or end up dead because of your association with him, and every night it’s a fight to get rid of those thoughts. To accept that, as you said to him more than once, he deserved to be happy after all he’d been through.

It felt good to have a _family_ , to love and be loved, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.


	30. Reunited (Javier Escuella)

Things almost felt normal.

You lived alone now, up in a little cabin a short ways from Strawberry, and did what you could to make a living. You mostly caught your own food, you’d been great at hunting since you were young and your father taught you, though you did odd jobs around town to sustain yourself. Your parents, far richer than you were, also sent an allowance down every month or so, though you weren’t too keen on using their money unless you absolutely had to.

You’d had a falling out with them over a foolish decision you’d made, perhaps they were right, but you were too stubborn to admit it. Not to mention, they were rather upset that you’d fallen for a Mexican, said with such distaste you’d ignored their desperate letters to come home for months afterwards out of rage. Once they apologized for the rude comment, they pointed out the much more important fact of _‘he’s in a gang’_ and _‘he dragged you into that gang with him’_ , which you could forgive because they were correct. But you were young, in love, and you didn’t want to think about the consequences of your actions.

You’d met Javier awhile back, while in a saloon with some friends, and he had charmed you easily. You liked the sound of his voice, the way he smiled, and were almost completely enamored immediately. He told you later he had planned to rob you blind since you looked rich, but you were so beautiful, he figured robbing you might ruin his chances with you. Funny that a few months after that, you were robbing people together.

You fell out with the gang a year or two ago, sad to say goodbye to someone you loved so dearly, but knew his loyalty to Dutch was stronger than his to you. It felt like an insult to your relationship, and perhaps some common sense from your parents kicked in when you realized you couldn’t live like that forever. Constantly on the run, under fire, was that any way to live? Perhaps for him, but it wasn’t for you.

And now you lived alone.

A storm approaches one night and you quickly get ready for it, boarding up your windows just in case, and making sure your noble steed is happy and comfortable in the barn until it passes. After everything is taken care of you’re ready to turn in for the night, to let the storm pass over and then see the damage that might be done afterwards. You’re lucky you hunted earlier that morning or you’d have to venture out in this mess so you didn’t starve.

A knock on your door startles you, and you wished you could see outside of your covered windows. Still paranoid and ready to fight from your days with the gang, you grab your pistol that you keep loaded, hiding it behind your back as you approach the door. You slowly open it, peaking outside and seeing a red-haired man on your door step, smiling cheerfully when he sees you’ve actually opened the door for him.

“What do you want?”

“Well, ma’am-“ His accent is so thick you don’t understand anything else, but that was also in part to seeing two figures moving in the thick trees off to the side of your home. You’re quick to slam the door shut but you’re quickly knocked back by the redhead, who pushes his way inside and sends you sprawling onto the floor. You keep a solid grip on your gun, pushing yourself across the floor before removing it from behind and aiming it.

“Get the _fuck_ out of my house.”

“Whoa there lady, no need for that! Just, eh, give us some money and we’ll leave you be.”

“Go earn your own damn money.”

The two figures who you had previously seen lurking in the trees enter your house behind the Irish man, and they’re soaked to the core. Who went and robbed people in the pouring rain? What kind of dumb but potentially genius decision was that? You look between the two other men, starting to feel nervous, there’s no way you could shoot all three of them before they could draw on you. There’s something familiar about the two that just walked in, though, and when you finally see their faces once they remove their hats, you almost laugh at the irony.

“Son of a bitch- Javier! Are you really _robbin’_ me right now?”

Javier is a little startled, calling out your name before scrambling over to where you’re on the floor. You lower your gun without a second thought, realizing that might be stupid since it has been awhile since you’d seen your former lover; there was some part of you that knew Javier wouldn’t ever hurt you, regardless of how much time had passed between you seeing each other. He takes ahold of your hand and pulls you up, checking you over for any wounds before he steps back.

“You know her?”

“Yes.” Javier responds softly, and Arthur seems to find some minor amusement at the situation.

“How you been?” He asks, and you look at him with a smile. You’d always liked Arthur, even if he was one of the grumpiest cowboy’s you’d ever met. He had always been kind and courteous to you, so you’d never had a reason to think poorly of him.

“I’ve been doin’ good, Arthur, aside from almost gettin’ robbed a few seconds ago.”

 There’s some light-hearted chatter between you and the new addition to the gang, Sean, but Javier remains silent. You can feel his eyes on you, staring at you like he wants to say something, but you can tell whatever it is, he’d prefer to keep it between the two of you. This doesn’t pass over Arthur’s head, who pats Sean’s shoulder and pushes him towards the door.

“We should be getting’ back to camp. Let Dutch know the tip wasn’t worth much.”

“Give me some time, will you, Arthur?” Javier glances at him and he nods, clearly understanding that he and Sean shouldn’t overstay their welcome.

“C’mon kid, let’s go.” Arthur ushers Sean towards the door, who still wears an amused expression on his face. Once they’re gone the tension begins, the kind of tension that happens when two people who still have feelings for one another are left in a place alone together. You walk over to the couch in front of your fireplace, suddenly feeling a bit cold, and Javier follows close behind, though he doesn’t make himself comfortable yet.

You didn’t think you’d ever see him again, and you can tell from the look on his face, he thought the same.

“You’re still so beautiful, mi amor.”

It still makes your heart flutter to hear him say that, and you hope the dim lighting in your home can hide the blush on your face. Javier sits next to you and there’s an awkward silence that makes you feel a little sad; you and he used to be able to talk about a lot of things, some memories of sitting around the camp fire and just talking about anything you could think of came to mind. You always liked talking to him because he liked to listen, to ask questions, and his biting comments could also be hilarious.

“You still play guitar?”

“I do.”

You think back to sitting around the campfire with the other, listening to Javier’s voice as he sang along to some song he’d written himself. It feels almost a lifetime ago that you used to listen to him throw ideas your way, humming to himself and finding the right words to go with the tune before he showcased it to the gang at night. He really had a talent for it, and you had even joked about him becoming famous for it, if he could find the right audience.

“Didn’t think I’d find you living out this way.”

You go on to tell him the story of how exactly you ended up here, and what you’d been doing with your life so far. You ask about some members of the gang who you’d gotten along with and are pleased to hear they’re still alive, as that wasn’t always guaranteed with living such a dangerous lifestyle. You’re thankful for the light conversation, nothing too heavy, but you can feel it drifting in that direction. Soon, once all the news of what you’d both been up to is over with, the silence drifts back, and you can’t think of a way to continue the conversation.

“I never stopped thinking about you.” He finally admits, “I _can’t_ stop thinking about you… I can’t.”

How could you tell him you felt the same? How could you admit he haunted your dreams every night since you separated? It had all been your fault that you’d split up, so you felt like you might not have a right to say anything about it, but it’s not like you left because you didn’t love him anymore. The need to kiss him is overwhelming, to assure him you still felt the same way; you can’t help yourself, staring at his lips before drifting back up to meet his eyes. You know he can sense the mood, he can see you actively trying to keep yourself still and trying to stop yourself from squirming.

“Come here.” He whispers, leaning close, his lips just barely brushing against yours. “Let me kiss you.”

He’s still as good a kisser as you remember, lips pressed softly against yours, enticing you to move closer and press harder against him. His arms wrap around you and it doesn’t take long for the kiss to get passionate, you taking the initiative to push him the rest of the way down on the couch and laying on top of him. He doesn’t mind the position change, it brings back fantastic memories; his arms wrap around your waist as he wishes you were wearing much less clothing, but…

Just being close to you like this again was enough.

He had missed you, and no other woman had managed to give him the same feelings.

There’s a few more bliss-filled moments where you pretend he isn’t going to leave, where you and he get to have a nice future together, act like a real couple who find some steady work and get to live in domestic simplicity together. But it’s all too obvious it’s just a dream, a wisp of one that’ll forever be out of your reach, and his, too, regardless of what he wanted. You had left that life behind you with no intention of going back, unable to bear the thought of hurting more people just for their money. The world was changing, and you weren’t going to rebel against it; your plan was to adapt, to get with the times, and continue to live with purpose.

“You can come back to visit, when you’re not busy, and all that.” You look away, feeling sheepish. Were you really trying to strike back up a relationship with him? He would never choose you, so what would the point be? Even with those questions, there was no question that you loved him and couldn’t ignore the pain at the thought of never seeing him again. You’d rather see him from month to month rather than not at all.

“I will.” He smiles at you, seeming rather happy with what you said; you guessed he assumed you’d tell him to get lost and never come back. You could never. “I should be going.”

“It’s still raining real hard out there.” You peak out the front door, looking over at the trees and seeing how hard they’re being blown by the wind. “Just stay the night with me, you can leave in the morning.”

“You make it real hard for a man to leave, don’t you?”

_‘It’s not hard enough.’_ You think, unhappily, _‘Because you’ll still be leavin’ me tomorrow.’_

“Maybe I don’t want you to leave yet.”

“…Maybe I don’t _want_ to leave yet.”

Well, you could stand to fool yourself a little longer, couldn’t you?


	31. Dreams (Dutch van der Linde)

Dutch was changing.

You remember the man you fell in love with, the one who loved to read you poetry, who whispered sweet nothings in your ear every night and who never let you forget how important you were. Some might see his flowery speech as too over the top, his need to declare your love to the world too much, but you thought it was all very Dutch. He as a person was over the top, a little dramatic, but incredibly attractive, charismatic, and breath-taking.

“I love you, you know that?” He used to say as music filled the air, slow-dancing with you inside your shared tent. “With every success we’re one step closer to fulfilling our dreams. I’ll be able to give you _everything_ you deserve.”

One of your flaws, you think, is you trusted too easily in those who didn’t deserve it. You had never marked Dutch as someone who didn’t deserve it, you thought he might embellish here and there, but you never thought he’d ever lie directly to you. You never thought he would betray your trust, that he wouldn’t consider you in his plans, or that he would leave you behind when things got tough.

But he was so damn hard to read.

You can’t pinpoint the exact moment he stopped trusting you with information, it was far before Guarma which you thought was another major change in your relationship, but you think it was something gradual. He slowly stopped confiding in you, his worries, his fears for the future, and kept it to himself. You don’t pester him because his anger was explosive, scary, and you preferred to avoid a fight. You were comfortable where you were out, well taken care of, and you selfishly decided to keep your mouth shut to secure your position in the camp.

Trusting Micah over you, you think, is the final straw.

When he and Micah started to plan, after Dutch’s head injury in Saint Denis, you no longer felt the same safety you once did. Dutch barely talked to you at all, and whenever he did, it felt like he was brushing you off, telling you he needed you to be patient, to have faith in him, and then it would all return to normal. You don’t think there was such a thing as normal anymore, and you weren’t sure you were willing to take part in whatever Dutch had planned when you couldn’t feel like you could trust him.

But who could you trust?

You sit in Dutch’s tent where you spend most days now, uncomfortable with talking to the other members now that there was a rift. You had been keeping a few things to yourself lately, and it was driving you mad now, since there was no one you felt you could confide in. You didn’t want to run off to any of those still extremely loyal to Dutch as you had no doubt they’d tell him everything you said, but you didn’t want to go to those lacking faith in Dutch, because what if they thought you were trying to pull a fast one on them? What if they didn’t care for your predicament, since you were with the boss man yourself?

“You seen Dutch around?” Arthur approaches the tent, looking irritated and sickly; you’d felt bad for him, ever since it’d been clear his sickness had been getting worse. He’d never been a man to want pity, but you gave it anyway. You’d had a certain fondness for Arthur, since Dutch used to speak so highly of him, like he was his own son. That’d changed recently, but you saw it was more of a change in Dutch’s character than Arthur’s.

“Sorry, Arthur, I think he and Micah went out again.” The man seems frustrated with this, almost rolling his eyes, but you reach out to stop him from leaving the tent.

“I… Dutch is different, ain’t he? Not right anymore?”

Arthur watches you carefully, the reaction you expected, but you can’t help but continue on.

“You don’t have to answer me ‘cause I already know he’s different. Don’t talk to me about nothin’ anymore, always off with that… that rat! I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but I don’t think there’s much any of us can do for Dutch no more.”

“I want to leave.” You blurt out, turning away from him the minute you say it. There’s another secret, on the tip of your tongue. “But I can’t.”

“Not that I’m encouragin’ the idea… but why?”

“I’m pregnant.” You admit to him, “And I don’t know what’s gonna come of all this but I don’t want to see it. I don’t want my child to see it, I don’t care _who_ their daddy is.”

“Does Dutch know?”

“He doesn’t. And I’d… I don’t want him to know.”

Arthur lets his guard down a bit more now, knowing you wouldn’t be stupid enough to turn on him and tell Dutch things when Arthur had this on you. He agrees you should leave but, as a woman with child, you shouldn’t go alone, without protection, and you would have to go somewhere no one would know about. Dutch could easily hunt you down, and though you’re sure your child would be spared, the betrayal on your part would be _unacceptable_ to him. Your lovers former right hand man suggests something, a plan, where he himself would escort you to the train station so you could get the hell away from this place as soon as possible.

“You’re a godsend, Arthur Morgan.”

“Don’t know about that.” But he wears an amused expression, dare you call it a smile, as he walks away to continue about his business.

You spend one last night lying next to Dutch and you’re worried, what if he could tell you had plans of leaving him? What if he realized the curve and hardness of your belly had changed, should he decide to hold you? He hadn’t bothered to touch you in weeks, maybe even months, and even when he laid next to you he was a million miles away.

“Dutch.” You say softly, rolling over to face him. You wonder if he’ll just pretend to be asleep, but he seems to be in a good mood, willing to humor you for the time being. “You know I love you, right?”

“And I, you, my love.” A surprising response, considering how much he’s ignored you these past few days. You can’t tell how true his words are, if they’re coming from the heart of the head; would he bother continuing to manipulate you at this point? Why did he want you to come with him still if he didn’t love you? You’re in your own head again, letting him get the better of you, using his own words against yourself and further scaring yourself away from leaving him.

But you had to leave.

“I’m glad I met you, Dutch van der Linde. Even if-“

“Don’t talk like that. Like _them_.” He cups your cheek and drags his thumb soothingly across it, something he used to do to comfort you when you started to worry about being on the run so much. “If you lose faith in me now, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“I’ll… never lose faith in you, Dutch. Not now, not ever.” You were lying through your teeth but if Dutch knows, he says nothing, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek before turning back on his side, facing away from you. You would miss this, you knew it, but there’s no more safety in this group, with him, and you had someone else to think for. Someone else whose life would entirely revolve around you, the quality of which would depend on the decisions you made, and you couldn’t subject them to any of this.

The next morning, you’re unsurprised to see Dutch missing, likely out again with Micah up to no good. Arthur meets you just outside the camp, and you’re carrying all that you own, which isn’t much when you thought about it. You didn’t have much money to spare but Arthur seems to have that handled, shoving a decent amount of cash in your hand and not hearing it when you try to give it back. It breaks your heart to hear him say you needed it more than he did, knowing that death was catching up with him quicker than he could run from it; you give him a quick, if not awkward hug, and he pats your back before he helps you onto the train.

“Thank you, Arthur, for everything. Please… be safe.”

Dutch wouldn’t take this well, without a doubt, and there’s no way the others like Javier and those two creeps Micah brought with him didn’t see you leave with Arthur. You already miss Dutch, but he hadn’t been the man you loved for a while, and maybe he never was. You’d heard John say maybe he’s growing into the man he always was, with part of you having to agree with him; maybe you never knew the real Dutch van der Linde.  

“Good luck out there.”

And then you’re off, ready to begin a life somewhere new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda had this idea in my head for Arthur, with telling him you're pregnant when this shit all goes down and he Knows he has to get you tf out of there before things explode but then I was like... this would be even more dramatic with Dutch's S/O being pregnant so uh here it is


	32. Lost and Found [Dreams Pt.2] (Dutch van der Linde)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished the second part before i managed to finish the Charles thing so have two depressing Dutch things in a row. A sequel to Dreams (the chapter before this one).

It took a long time for peace to come, but it did.

You lived on your family’s land, making your way back to them after the disaster with the Van der Linde gang fell to pieces. Your family wasn’t entirely thrilled to see you come back, pregnant from a man who you had never married, but you’re still welcomed back with open arms. Despite the hardships you’d been through, despite the constant fear for your life, you felt like things would be okay. You felt like you could raise a child on these lands, raise them to be a good person who did good things in the world, to make up for all the bad you sat back and watched happen (or even participated in).

You had Noah, a son, and you’d never been happier. He was the most beautiful baby you laid eyes on, taking his good looks from his father, who you refused to even talk about now. It was too painful to do so, to talk about a life left behind, and you were attempting to lay low. You weren’t sure if the agents would still attempt to seek you out but you refused to tempt fate, even insisting to your family to act as if you’ve died. They had a fake funeral to keep up appearances, and gave you a fake name, referring to you as a cousin when others were in earshot. It was a lot of steps to take to have a normal life for yourself, but it was your own fault you ended up arriving at this conclusion.

You missed Dutch, and you hated yourself for it.

He had loved you deeply, and you knew it, even if in the end he hadn’t shown you the same side of himself. You have many memories that flood in at night, when you’re laying in bed, Noah snuggled beside you. You can remember the way he danced with you, hands on your hips, spinning you around, smiling and laughing. It was like a rush of colors, of the light that had shined down on your life until those last moments at Beaver Hollow, where the whole world seemed to darken. You could no longer ignore how naïve you acted, as though things would turn out fine no matter what, and you can’t help but wonder what might have been if you could reel Dutch in.

What could’ve happened if Micah had never joined the gang? What could have happened had Hosea not died in that bank robbery in Saint Denis? They’re questions that would plague you if you gave them the time of day, as there was nothing left for you to do but accept the reality that came to be. Those things did happen, and there was no point wasting energy in thinking of the ‘what if’s’.

Your house was a ways from the main house where the rest of your family lived, with you occasionally making your way up there to help with household chores in there and do whatever it is they needed so they’d continue to let you live among them. They gave you food and clothes so long as you helped, so there wasn’t a need for you to go into town to earn money, which was safer for everyone. You loved to spend the days with your son, reading to him and teaching him how to do the basic things around the house, while knowing that eventually, you’d have to teach him yourself how to be a man. He didn’t have a father around to teach him.

After tucking Noah into bed and reading him a short poem, a bedtime routine he refused to let go of, insisting he would never be too old for you to read to him before he slept, you sit yourself on your couch with your own book in hand. You had always been attracted to the books that promised a happy ending, perhaps holding out that you’d have your own. You should be happy, because you had a wonderful son, but you didn’t get to be with his father. You didn’t know where Dutch even was, if he was still alive. Just more questions to keep you up at night, wondering, worrying, if he’d ever come after you.

That night, you discover, he is indeed alive and well.

You jump as your door flings open, hoping, praying, that it was just the wind but knowing fate had ways of catching up with you. You whip your head around, more fearful of seeing Micah or some of his lot, but are shocked to see an extremely unkempt Dutch walk through your door. He doesn’t seem like he’s seen a moment of peace since you last saw him, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been endlessly on the run from the law. You run up a bounty like his, and the punishment for it is lifelong.

“What the hell are you doing here?” All you can think about is Noah, if he heard, and what he’d do if he thought an intruder was in the house. You hope with all that you’d taught him and talked about he’d know to hide, to run away, perhaps to go to the main house and warn them that something bad was happening.

“I should kill you.” He growls out, his gun pulled out in an instant. It seems the years did nothing to help his impulsivity and violence, though this is the first time you ever found yourself at this end of the barrel. “I should shoot you where you stand for what you did to me!”

“What I did to you? Are you _fucking_ kiddin’ me?!” You might not have a gun, and you might have plenty of reasons you should keep your mouth shut, but this was too much. To flee a man and find peace, only for him to come back and ruin it? A man you had loved so dearly and supported until he’d proven he’d flown off the deep end? “Don’t you threaten me, Dutch van der Linde, don’t you come into my home wavin’ that gun around when the reason I left had everything to do with you changin’!”

“How selfish can you be?! You see a man, going through a hard time, and you leave him? All of our hopes, our dreams-“

“They were your hopes and dreams, Dutch, not mine. And you could damn well fulfill them without me, and you knew that!” You crossed your arms. “That’s why it took you three years to come find me, because it didn’t kill you to live without me. But it killed _me_ to live without _you_! I missed you every goddamn day, regardless of the fact I know what you’ve become! Turning on your own people, the ones you raised yourself, for some lunatic with an itchy trigger finger?”

“Micah- It wasn’t like that.”

“It’s exactly what it was like, and I’m not sure why you never saw through that rat. You’re not stupid, Dutch, I know that, so why? What’s the point of any of this?” You glance back towards the bedroom, timid, worried your son might rise. It was a stupid thing to do with Dutch so on edge, and he quickly follows where your eyes had been.

“Is there someone else here?” He hisses out, clearly unhappy; he probably thought it was another man, no doubt, but you’d rather him think that than know the truth. He starts to storm towards the door, probably to make a point, to show ‘if he can’t have you, no one can’ but you block him to the best of your ability.

“Please, just go, Dutch.”

“Not until I see the bastard you left me for!”

“It’s not like that, you fool! I never laid with another man while we were together!” He easily pushes past you as, despite his disheveled looks, he was still quite strong. You stumble against the wall but gain your footing back quickly, darting after him as he kicks the door open hard, causing the crack of the wood to reverberate against the walls of the house. You can see your son bolt upright in his head, cowering in the furthest corner of it he could reach as the strange man entered his room.

“What-?” Dutch looks bewildered, and you take the opportunity to rush past him to your sons side, pulling him into your arms and trying to soothe him.

“It’s okay, Noah, it’s okay. You don’t got nothin’ to worry about, mama is gonna handle this, okay? Just, lay back down and close your eyes and when this man has left mama’s gonna come back, okay?” He nods wordlessly but still seems helplessly frightened, and you couldn’t blame him for that. To be woken up in such a way, to a man who had a gun, must have been the worst experience he ever had.

“You’re…”

“Let’s talk outside.” Dutch let’s you approach him, the hand holding his gun fallen to his side, finger no longer on the trigger. “Please.”

Dutch listens to you for once in your entire relationship and leaves the room without another peep, letting you shut it behind you as you reassured your son once more that everything would be okay. You inhale deeply before turning to look at the broken man before you, looking more tired than he’d ever looked in his life.

“A child?” He whispers out, “How old? H-How old is he?”

“He’s yours, if that’s what you wanna know.” Your arms are crossed again, staring hard at him. “I never told him about you, neither. And I think you’ve done enough damage to him now, Dutch. If you even have one last shit to give about me or him, you need to go! You need to go, and never come back!”

Dutch once again surprises you, whipping around to face away from you, rubbing at his temples as if he has a terrible migraine. You can feel the tension fading, being replaced with pity for this man who was only a shell of his former self. To see him again was not the great relief you’d thought it might be for your heart, instead, it just tore it to shreds even more. You wished things could have been better, you wished you could just have some silly little mango farm in Tahiti with the love of your life, but life hardly turned out the way anyone wanted it to.

Accepting reality had been the first step to moving on from Dutch, and this, this was closure.

“The world is changing.” Dutch states simply, taking steps towards the door and stopping in the doorway to look at you one last time. “There ain’t a place for me in it anymore.”

He walks through, closing the door behind him and getting on his horse. You watch carefully from the window, worried he might come back with more firepower, or maybe he had plans to bring more men to really send a message to you and your family. But you couldn’t think so poorly of him, even now, because he had loved you once. Perhaps some of that love still remained, which prevented him from putting a bullet in your head the minute he saw you again. Maybe seeing his own son, terrified as he looked upon him, with no idea of who he truly was, finally knocked some sense into him.

You return to your son’s room once Dutch has disappeared over the horizon, sitting on the bed and holding him close. Your heart clenched in your chest, every beat of it rife with pain.

“I-is that man coming back, mama?”

You hold your son close, squeezing him, urging the tears that are flowing to stop.

“No, baby, I don’t think he will.”


	33. A Chance (Charles Smith)

Charles wanted a family.

Sadie joked that spending so much time around John had given him the family bug, and she hadn’t been entirely incorrect; the thought of a family had always been in the back of his mind, but he had never really thought it could be a reality. He had lived a dangerous lifestyle, not one that could safely include a family, so he hadn’t wanted to fool himself into yearning for something he couldn’t have. But now he could, with the gang gone, with the future wide open, he had a chance to work towards things he might not have figured possible before.

The last place he’d seen you was in Saint Denis, and it was a death wish for him to go back there, especially with those who he’d scorned at his last boxing tournament. He considered heading up north immediately, not going to find you on some pipe dream that you might be glad to see he was alive and would consider coming to Canada with him. It would be even more awkward to ask if you would be interested in a family, but he wasn’t going to count his chickens before they hatched; he’d wait and see your reaction, and decide for himself if he should put his heart on the table or not.  

You had left the gang before he even had a chance to give you a real goodbye.

One of the things he liked the most about you was your ability to read people, to really listen and understand what was going on around you. You had run after giving your own advice to Arthur, and even Charles, and though it might seem cowardly, you were smart. You knew you would have likely died because you were an easy target, and you knew you had more to give to this world, so you had fled. You had let him know you were planning to do it, but it still felt like you were there one second and gone the next.

Your relationship with him had never been official, it started just from spending a lot of time together. You liked to hunt and learn from him, you often had guard duty at night together, and in general, you were one of the few people he really enjoyed spending time around. He can remember the first time you leaned in to give him a kiss, a quick one, on the cheek, after he saved you from a cougar that most certainly wanted to tear your throat out. He didn’t think it was odd, convinced himself it hadn’t meant anything, until you dragged him aside one night and nearly tore his clothes off.

“You are an enigma of a man, Charles.” You had whispered as you nipped at his ear. “And I really love that about you.”

What could it hurt to try? To try to express himself and have you understand that his feelings for you were strong, and not only sexual, either. There were too many different definitions of love out there that none ever felt right, like they described the way he felt things, but if he had ever felt something akin to it, it had been when you and he were together. He thought of you daily, of what you might be doing, hoping you were safe wherever you had went. He also considered you might not want to see him again, might not be interested in reliving the past, but again, what could it hurt?

You’re the one who spots him, much to his surprise; he’d always been better at hunting and spotting small animals, so he thought he might have the advantage if he were to run into you in Saint Denis.

“Charles I-! I can’t believe you’re here and still…!” You nearly knock him over with the force of your hug, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, and though he dislikes public affection, he can’t help but hold you close. The moment felt so much better than he could ever think, his heart was swimming in the sea of joy, leaving him feeling like he was on top of the world. If you could make him feel like that just from a hug, he couldn’t imagine how he’d feel if you were to actually return his feelings. “I couldn’t find anything about what happened, and I didn’t wanna press too much, didn’t wanna get in trouble, but-“

“Relax, relax.” He soothes you, hand stroking your hair in an affectionate manner. “It’s funny. I’d been in Saint Denis awhile before John found me, but you never did. We should find somewhere more private to talk.”

“I’m renting a room, here, this way, this way, you have to tell me about everything that happened.”

Once you reach your room, Charles gives you the full story, recounting everything he knew of what happened during the last days of the gang. He can tell you’re thankful for getting out while you did, that your predictions of things going horribly wrong quickly were correct, but there’s still some regret on your face. You had cared about Arthur, you had cared about John and Abigail and little Jack, and to have left them all behind to their fates hadn’t ever been something you wanted to do. It takes you a few minutes before you can process your emotions, knowing Arthur was dead, but knowing John and Abigail were married and happy and raising Jack together on their own little ranch, it was a strong force of emotions running through you.

“I’m real sorry I couldn’t… I should’ve just…”

“You can’t keep thinking about it.” Charles grabs your hands, squeezing them. “I’m glad I found you again.”

There’s a moment where your eyes meet and he can feel it, the sparks, his heart ready to beat out of his chest. He wants to bring up Canada, having a family, all the things he’d discovered about himself the last few years, but he knew the time would come soon enough to talk about that. All he could do now was be thankful, thankful he had you in his life, thankful that he had been given another chance to have everything he’d ever wanted to with you. In the next few seconds he realizes you still do love him, the way your lips meet his in a needy kiss, body pressed against his, holding tight, like you’ll never let him go again.

He had no intention of letting you go again, either.


	34. The Woman You Love (Karen Jones)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's another Charles story I'm trying to complete and it just... keeps going, it's already at 3k so I'm going to finish it one day but here have some sadness while you wait

Karen was drunk, and you knew it.

You knew she’d had a problem before, getting drunk damn near every night when the day was over, but it had never impeded her during the day. Ever since Sean’s death, ever since the terrible things that have been happening in camp, she hasn’t been able to help herself. She wasn’t the same fun-loving Karen anymore, the one who acted like she never had a worry in the world, she was miserable, and mean-spirited.

But you couldn’t really blame her.

It was so easy to look at her and see her as some silly drunken blonde, the life of the party, just a caricature of a person instead of a real life human being who felt more than just one emotion. Karen had always had worries about this lifestyle, she had always struggled with who she was and what she really wanted out of life, but there wasn’t often anyone willing to listen to her. You’d heard that side of her come out more than once, the real, more authentic her, but she always seemed to be shot down, or someone would jokingly ask if she was drunk (during the few times she actually wasn’t).

You try to hide the booze from her but there’s always someone who gives in to her, or a stash somewhere else that she manages to break into. It’s nearly impossible to keep her from alcohol and despite trying to talk to her about it, nothing has changed. She stays drunk, trying to numb her pain when all she’s doing is making it worse by not dealing with it. She was going to kill herself this way, if this didn’t stop.

“You’re… the only good thing left in this world, you know?” You try to ignore her drunken drivel, arm wrapped around her waist as you carried her back to your own sleeping area. You had decided to cut her off before she completely blacked out that night, and the only way to keep an eye on her was to bring her to your own bed, making sure she was asleep before you could sleep yourself. She doesn’t resist, much to your surprise, though it’s been quite a task trying to get her to your bed. “Don’t… Don’t ignore me! You know how I feel about you, right?”

“I do know, Karen.” You sit her down, helping her smooth out her skirts before sitting beside her. “You’ve confessed to me at least three times today.”

“But I- I _mean_ it. I really do.”

“I wish I could believe you.” You turn to her with a frown. “But how am I supposed to, Karen? Maybe if you said it to me sober it’d mean somethin’, but you’re… you’re always drunk now. Ain’t nothin’ you say make any sense anymore, so sorry if I don’t believe a damn thing you got to say.”

“Honey…” She mumbles, inching closer to you, close enough so that she could lean her head on your shoulder comfortably. “Love you… so much…”

It hurt to hear her say it so much, especially considering you know what she had with Sean. To come running to you after his death, to try to fill the void in her heart that he must’ve left, stung. You wanted to believe her, you wanted to be able to say ‘I love you, too’ and kiss her and love her and take away every ounce of pain she was feeling, but you couldn’t let her play you. You couldn’t let her play herself, either, by thinking she loved a person just because it might make it all hurt less.

“Go to sleep, please.”

“But, I, I want you to know-“ The last word is drawn out and slurred as she falls back onto the bedroll, making herself comfortable.

“Please, don’t say you love me. Please.” You were so tired of hearing those words, so tired of knowing you weren’t worthy of them and that she doesn’t love you like you want her to, like you need her to. But you’d still take care of her, you’d still be here for her, as long as she could hold herself back from proclaiming her love every three minutes.

At this point you didn’t know how to help her.

When the sound of her snoring hits your ears you know it’s safe to get comfortable and sleep yourself, taking one last look out over the camp. Everything was disheveled, not as it should be, and there was barely anyone hanging around with each other. Everyone tried to stick to themselves these days unless they went out, and even then, you can tell that not everyone is getting along as well as they used to. It really felt like the death of a family, and you don’t know if you could blame Karen for wanting to become a drunken mess. Who would want to be conscious and deal with any of this?

As you lay down you take the opportunity to lean over and press a kiss to her forehead, quick, not lingering, and regretting it immediately afterwards. She smiles in her sleep and whispers something, it almost sounds like Sean’s name, but for your own sake, you ignore it and pretend you heard nothing. As your eyes slide closed you finally have to say it out loud, even if it made you sick to your stomach; you had to be honest with yourself, and with Karen, even if she was fast asleep and wouldn’t hear anything you said.

“I love you, too, Karen. But we just ain’t meant to be.”

That was all the ghost of a memory now, the gang long gone, as was all the friends and your old crush. You hadn’t kept up with any of them for years, not now that you had a family (a lovely woman who had left an abusive husband, saving herself and her two kids from an awful future). You were lucky, you think, to be so loved and appreciated by someone you also loved, unable to forget your one-sided affair at camp that had led to nothing but your own heartbreak. You wished it all could’ve been different, you wish you could say Karen was still on your mind, but you had been determined to move on, and had done so.

You hadn’t thought about her in years, until you received a letter.

“What’s that, darlin’?” Your wife asks, glancing at the letter with healthy curiosity. It’s signed by Tilly, and you’re too nervous to open it, handing it over to Charlotte who’s more than happy to look. “An old friend, how sweet! Oh, but…”

“But what?”

“I guess an old friend of yours… passed away.” She gives you a look of sympathy as you take the letter, reading it over and over, finding yourself becoming numb with each line.

You couldn’t be happier for Tilly, who had a family now, a normal life and was living well. You were proud of her for achieving such a thing after being in gangs most of her life, and you wished her the best, despite the other awful news included in the letter. Karen had died, young, from the drinks finally catching up with her, a fate you knew would be coming some day if she didn’t stop. You remember those nights she fell asleep next to you, you remember the nights where she was blacked out at camp, you remember the days where she’d fight with anyone who tried to tell her she had a problem… and no one had managed to get through to her. And now she was dead.

You place the letter on the table, requesting to be alone as you sit outside on your porch, staring into the starry sky.

You’re not sure how long you’re out there, stuck in your own thoughts, wondering if you had just stayed with Karen or took her with you, if things could’ve been different. Could you have saved Karen from herself, or was she doomed from the start? You felt selfish for having left her to her own devices, but you couldn’t just baby her the rest of her life, you couldn’t watch her slowly kill herself the way she was anymore. It had been weighing on you more and more, day by day, and had been one of biggest reasons you’d left the camp without telling a soul.

You might not have thought of Karen Jones in a long time, but tonight, you did, and you missed her.

Charlotte joins you outside after a few hours of you being alone, sitting beside you and placing a hand on your leg. You look over at her and appreciate her, appreciate her for loving you properly, and for giving you happiness you didn’t know if you deserved. Leaning against her, you finally let out a deep sigh, knowing you could never properly explain why you were drowning in sorrow. You couldn’t pinpoint it yourself, either, but knew there was no point in trying to make sense of emotions.

Wherever Karen was now, you hoped she was at peace; you hoped she knew she’d always have a special place in your heart.  


	35. Does He or Doesn't He? (Kieran Duffy)

“You think they feel like I’m one of them yet?”

“Maybe not, but most of ‘em take awhile to get used to new members.” You pat Kieran’s arm. “If it helps matters, you’ve weaseled your way into _my_ heart, O’Driscoll.”

The impact of the scowl on his face is lessened by the dark blush that now adorns it, with Kieran turning away so you can’t tease him. You don’t need to see his face to know that you’ve made him flustered, it’s been the same thing you’ve done to him since he became one with the group. He appreciated your company, as you were just about the only one who was truly nice to him, but he wished you didn’t flirt with him so often. You were getting his hopes up that you might actually have a thing for him.

But you were among a gang of criminals, so he assumed you were just trying to con him out of something.

What could you actually get from him? Nothing, he thought, so he’s not sure why you bothered. But he wouldn’t complain in fear that you might back of, that he might not get to enjoy conversations or fishing trips with you anymore. You had to fight with some of the older members of the gang over going fishing with him alone, since it was fresh off his ‘probation’ among them where he was actually allowed to leave the camp, but you were nothing if not extremely stubborn. When you came back in one piece _and_ with fish, he thinks that they started to trust him the slightest bit more.

A camp party begins after a decent score comes through, everyone in the group always finding whatever reason there was to drink. You don’t always drink but tonight you felt like letting loose, especially after Kieran rejects your offer to come drink with you. He was always so anxious around the others, afraid to stop working just in case he’s declared useless and turned to the wild. You wouldn’t let them do that to him, and if they did, you’d be going with them. You thought Kieran had done more than enough to prove that he belonged among the lot of you, and it was beginning to become annoying to see him bullied (now, good old-fashioned sarcasm and jabs? Those were fine. Everyone got testy with each other once in a while).

“You think he likes me?” You always get emotional while you drink, things you normally kept under the surface bubbling up uncomfortably and unable to leave your thoughts. Karen knows what you’re talking about without you even having to specify, with her simply shrugging her shoulders in response.

“He’d be a fool not to.”

He didn’t have to like you, of course, but you think you _really_ liked him. You had been the one to give him advice to sell out the O’Driscoll’s, you had been the one to support him joining the gang, you’d been the one flirting with him since the very start, and, you were confident to say, knew him more than anyone else around here. You had just found him interesting, once he was finally able to hold a conversation with you, and you never suspected you’d develop _genuine_ feelings for him.

It bothers you through the night that you can’t figure out whether Kieran liked you or not; you’d seen him interact with Mary-Beth, too, even calling her pretty once. She was pretty, of course, but he’d never said that to _you_. It was stupid to be upset over something so miniscule, jealous over a simple interaction when you spent the most time with him, but you realized, you were always the one to approach him first. It’s not as though he ever approached you specifically to ask if you’d like to go fishing with him, or anything like that, but then again, you were always on top of it.

Another thing about alcohol is that it made you confrontational, something you generally tried to avoid unless absolutely needed. You put down your finished beer and decided your thoughts weren’t going to exert their power over you, you were just going to seek out an answer. What if it wasn’t what you wanted? Well then, you’d stop flirting and bothering with him, then! If he couldn’t appreciate you for who you were, then why waste your time on him? You knew it wouldn’t be as simple as that, especially because the minute you thought about no longer interacting with Kieran a dull ache spread across your chest.

You find him over by the stables, talking softly to the horses and brushing them off, making sure they were comfortable before he turned in for the night. It was completely dark outside now, and you were far enough away from camp that no one would see the two of you out there. You’d rather not be questioned on why you were both alone outside of camp, in the dark, so once you approach Kieran, you point towards the words a few feet away.

“What-?” He looks bewildered as you push him, leading him off to a secluded place so the horses couldn’t watch and judge you. You know you smelled like alcohol and you had to look pretty scary, too, because Kieran looked like he was damn near ready to piss himself.

“Do you like me, Kieran?” Your hand rests on his chest, keeping him up against the tree you had him pinned to. “Or do you just put up with me so that no one ‘round here will shoot you?”

It made you sad to think that he might feel pressured to spend his time with you, and it’d taken you this long to see it; you had a lot of power over him, since you were well-liked among the gang, which made the dynamic between you and Kieran off-balance. He would probably be afraid to reject you, since you were the one always hitting on him and telling him to do chores with you, it was all starting to feel futile now. How could you make him feel comfortable enough to tell you the truth?

“You don’t gotta like me, you know.” You look away from his face, which had turned from frightened to curious now. “I always had a soft spot for ya. Felt really bad about what they did but we had to be real sure you were tellin’ us the truth. You’re _really_ cute, Kieran, and very kissable, and I just need you to- to tell me, how you feel…”

“I-I like you.” He says it too quietly, and you tilt your head to the side, looking at him through tired, half-lidded eyes. Were you hallucinating and hearing what you wanted, or did you miss a word in his sentence? Did he say he liked you?

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you, sorry. Bein’ drunk kinda-“ You feel your heart soar as you’re cut off mid-sentence, Kieran’s lips pressing hard against yours to silence you. You let out a happy moan of approval, quickly dominating Kieran, who submitted to you without much complaint; he was making his point to you, he did indeed enjoy kissing you, spending time with you, because why wouldn’t he? You were just far better at being straight-forward about what you wanted, and he was too nervous to be forward with you.

You spend a few wonderful minutes with Kieran behind that tree, not letting it go too far, but letting him know you’d be more than open to the idea when you weren’t drunk. He gains a little more confidence now, hands running down your side, stroking your hair, pulling you back in for more just as you pull away. You enjoy this, the feeling of being wanted, the warmth of another person, but you know it can’t last for long, as the others would notice your absence soon enough.

“You think you can walk me back to my bed? I might get lost.” You giggle into your hand as Kieran nods his head, giving a small smile.

“I think I can do that for you, Miss. This way.”

You must’ve been more drunk then you realized because your legs wobbled as you walked back into camp, and Kieran had to do most of the work, having you lean on him as he lead the way. Luckily, you make it back to your bed without incident, and you even considered inviting Kieran to join you, even if you knew he’d never. But you’re so tired you can’t even muster up the energy to flirt, quietly thanking him with a kiss on the cheek before flopping onto your bedroll and rolling yourself into the blanket you had. Kieran watches you get comfortable before he heads back to the horses, wanting to finish up what he’d been doing before you interrupted so he could go to bed, too.

There really hadn’t been anything for you to worry about, but tomorrow, you did plan on asking why he hasn’t called _you_ pretty yet.


	36. Savior [Prequel to A Chance] (Charles Smith)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was working on this for awhile, couldn't stop writing because the ideas kept flowing and I didn't want to separate the story at all. So here you go! Finally finished. I think of it as a prequel to "A Chance" just so when I work on part 3 (which will take place after "A Chance") it'll have a little more to it. This is also like 4.6k words so I hope y'all enjoy it! 
> 
> Also, warnings are clearly in place for this one. There's a lot of talk of rape, but I don't graphically write it out, there's many implications, though, so if it's something that would bother you I would suggest not reading. There's also some suicidal thoughts, and plenty of self-doubt.

You wonder when your life would stop being a living hell.

If anyone had asked you when you were a young, bright-eyed teenager what you’d be doing in adulthood, you probably would’ve responded with something other than ‘slave to a bunch of criminals’. Your younger self would’ve been proven to be a fool, but luckily, no one asked because no one had bothered to believe in you, anyway. You were sold off like you were an item, just some object in the house instead of someone’s child, and you found yourself in such a miserable situation you wonder if you were ever meant to live past twenty.

Day in and out you scrubbed floors, washed blood from clothes, and were used in more than one way to satisfy the men around camp. It makes you sick to your stomach but you’d learned how to close your eyes and picture yourself somewhere else, until it was all said and done and you could go back to the manual labor. You preferred it compared to having some disgusting man lurching over you and lusting after you, but it’s a life you had to get used to; they all had guns, and were decent enough shots, you’d be dead before you set your own two feet outside of camp.

As the days went by, you realized you minded that thought less and less. Death. An escape.

Your day started off like any other, but one of the lower ranking members decided he wanted a ‘taste of you’ before he left; you shiver at those words, disgusting, you hated when they talked like that. They acted like they were doing you a favor, like no one would want you otherwise, and now that you’d be used so much, you were beginning to think that’s true. Who would want someone who’s been used and abused like you had? Who would even have the patience to deal with you after this?

Your thoughts are blank as the man begins to unbuckle his belt, but he’s interrupted by the sound of gunshots outside. He abruptly stops taking off his pants and heads to the window, taking cover behind it and pulling out his own pistol, just in case. You can hear the other members outside screaming, calling out for help, or ordering others to get into position; were you under attack? You don’t move from the bed even at the threat of a stray bullet flying through the window, you’d actually be grateful at such a happy accident (as long as it killed you, and didn’t just cause you suffer more).

The door to the dingy shack you lived in is kicked open by a man, one who doesn’t look like he came to play games. You’re stricken with fear, wondering if this is how you’d die: shot by some stranger who didn’t know they could actually be saving you. Just a few seconds before you’d been so placid at the thought of death, and now you can feel the fear running through your veins.

You wanted to _live_ , just not like this.

A look of concern flashes across the strangers face, and you realize there’s no way you’d be mistaken as a member of this gang; you looked too beaten down, too weak, to be anything but a victim.

“Are you alright?” The man asks, and it’s at that point you realize he doesn’t notice the other man who’s now positioned behind the door.

“Look out!” Your cry comes too late as the stranger nearly gets shot, but something on your face must have alerted him, because he avoids a fatal wound. “Bastard!”

You’re not allowed to have many things in your little shack, especially nothing considered a weapon, but the previous night a member had left an empty alcohol bottle near your bed. You had had plans to use it for an escape attempt, had been formulating a plan, but now seemed as good a time as any. Leaning over to grab said bottle tight in hand you throw it as hard as you can while the stranger struggles with the man, knowing your aim isn’t great, but you’re lucky enough to land a direct hit. The gang member stumbles from the hit, giving the other man enough time to shoot him square in the head, the room now cleared of threats.

You’re filled with adrenaline from the act but suddenly realize you’re still in a room with a stranger, one whose intentions you still didn’t know. Your camp could just be being raided by an even worst set of people, who would make your life even more miserable, and the thought of having to do more of the same when you felt such momentary relief at the thought of freedom made your heart lurch.

“Please, if all you want is to take me back to your camp and rape me and make me… be your slave, or whatever it is, please just goddamn shoot me or I’ll shoot myself.”

There’s mild alarm that settles across the man’s face, and he takes another quick glance around the room. You don’t know what he’s looking for but you can feel your heart pounding loudly in your chest, thumping hard, wondering if this was the end or if freedom was finally at the tips of your fingers.

“I’d like you to come with us.” He finally speaks. “We won’t do anything horrible to you, but you can’t stay here. You won’t survive alone.”

You’re almost offended at that but you’re not shocked, you must look gaunt, exhausted, like a sickly person who hadn’t been fed properly in weeks. That wasn’t entirely untrue, you barely got the food and water you needed, and tended to only get luxuries like a bath if you put out enough or did a ‘favor’ that normally ended with you in immense pain, so how did you expect to look? You hadn’t looked in a mirror for a long time, and you wondered if you’d ever be able to look in one again.

Would you even recognize that person?

“I promise we won’t hurt you.” He puts his gun away, holding his hands up to show he’s unarmed.

“I… I don’t know…” What was there for you to lose? He clearly had no plans on leaving you behind, took some pity on you, too, so why not see if his kindness would last? You carefully get up from the bed, looking over towards the disheveled closet and grabbing your coat; it was one of the only things you could call your own, no matter how old and too small for you it was. “What’s your name? I feel like… maybe I’ll trust you more, if you tell me.”

He doesn’t seem to find anything odd about this, “My name is Charles Smith. Stick close to me, just in case.”

You follow after him quietly, taking a quick look at the battlefield around outside; there’s dead bodies everywhere, all of them members of the gang that you’d been sold to. You see familiar faces and you want to spit at their bodies, but you don’t have the spit to spare for the likes of them. You stare at Charles’ back as he makes his way towards his ‘friends’, you didn’t know who they were but they seemed happy to see that he was okay, so you counted them as friends.

“Charles, who’s that you got there?”

You cower behind him, the booming voice intimidating, making you remember every man who’d ever yelled at and hurt you in your life. All the men gathered around note the response, and they don’t seem too pleased with the way you reacted; you fear they may retaliate, call you some awful name, but instead you just score more pity points with them.  

“Poor thing, scared outta her mind.”

“We can’t just leave her here, we should take her back with us.”

“We really need another mouth to feed?”

“We’re not leaving her.” Charles states calmly, but with conviction. The rest of the men nod in understanding, and Charles leads you over to his horse. “You’ll ride back with me.”

You’re still not completely positive whether or not you’re walking into a trap, a worse life, but you don’t feel like it could be any worse than the situation you were leaving. They might be murderers but they did kill some awful folk, not innocent ones, not to mention Charles just… didn’t seem the type. You’d seen him kill a man but he radiated kindness, specifically towards you, able to spot immediately that you were a victim of the gang his people had targeted. You’re quiet and listen in on their conversation as they head back towards camp, your grip on Charles tight as you don’t remember the last time you’d ridden a horse and you certainly didn’t want to fall off and make a fool of yourself now.

When you first enter the camp beside Charles, or specifically, behind him, you get stared at. You were a newcomer, unrecognized, not to mention you looked a complete and total mess. What did bring you comfort, however, was the fact there were women milling about and also staring at you. They looked clean, healthy, like they weren’t abused every day of their life like you’d been, meaning the gang might not pose a serious danger to you.  

“Come on, dear, we’ll be takin’ care of you right now.” An older woman walked over, ushering you away from your source of comfort and into a group of women who looked equally as concerned for you. It felt awkward, to have so much attention on you, but you couldn’t say their presence was unwelcome. You felt naturally more comfortable around the other women, and they almost doted on you, helping you clean up your face, get into clean clothing (offered by the woman closest to you in size), and finding something for you to eat while they settled you at a wooden table.

“It’s awful what they did to you.” One woman, Mary-Beth you think her name was, says as she brushes the knots from your hair. “You won’t have to worry about that anymore.”

“If you’re going to be staying with us, you’ll have to put the work in. We all have a part in keeping this camp running.” The older woman stated matter-of-factly, to the point you were almost intimidated. You hadn’t agreed to stay, but at the same time, where would you go? What else did you have to do in this world besides help repay the people who had saved you from your own living nightmare?

“I know how to… how to cook and clean, all of that.” The older woman nods in approval before she heads back into the throng of camp, likely to talk to the man who’s standing at the largest tent; he’d been glancing over at you every now and again after talking to Charles and a few of the others that had raided the camp, and you figured you were likely the topic of the conversation.

You talk some more with the girls, get them to open up about themselves so you can feel like you know them at least a little better. You’re still reluctant to talk about yourself, about the things that had been done to you, but you could tell some of them have had it hard, too. There wasn’t anything to be embarrassed about, but your life had been so marred by fear you couldn’t help but worry of the potential judgment that might come. You did make it known you weren’t a willing member of that gang, that you were sold by your own parents, but that’s as far as you went. You didn’t think there was much else interesting about your past.

The leader of the gang, Dutch, had agreed that you were welcomed to stay. He had wanted to talk to you one-on-one, but seeing how nervous that made you, he spoke to you with Miss Grimshaw, giving you your official gang welcome. His words are comforting, letting you know that no one would ever touch you without your permission again, and that you were officially under his (and by extension, the rest of the gangs) protection as long as you wanted to stay and offered them your loyalty.

While sitting beside the fire with Mary-Beth, who you found to be a very relaxing person to be around, Charles approaches. Your eyes light up when you notice him come towards you, and you feel an odd fluttering in your heart; the feeling is easy enough to push down, especially because he was your savior. He was the reason you were still here, alive, recovering, and potentially finding a new place to belong.

“How are you doing?” He’s a man of few words, but they’re gentle, and you can confidently say he’s one of the only men you’ve ever felt instantly comfortable around. You don’t know if it’s just from his calm aura, or if it’s because he was your rescuer, but you don’t look into it too deeply.

“Much better.” You smile at him. “Thank you for, uh, not shootin’ me when I asked you to.”

“Of course.” The look on his face tells you he never planned to do such a thing regardless of the situation, and it brings you great comfort. “Looks like you’re getting along with everyone.”

After a few more words with Charles he leaves you be, with you watching him as he goes before turning to Mary-Beth. She had been watching the conversation the entire time with an amused look, simply smiling as you turned back to her and asking if you’d like to sleep next to her tonight (until they found a more suitable bedding area for you). You agree, not remembering the last time you slept next to someone who wasn’t completely repulsive, and wonder if tonight your dreams would be more pleasant than they had been in years.

They were.

A month, then two, pass with you staying with the gang, earning your keep and comfortably finding a place for you. At first you’d felt like an unwanted outsider, inducted due to pity, but you found yourself becoming ‘one of them’ the longer you’re there. You soon feel ‘healthy’ again, like a normal human being, your skin no longer gaunt and gaining more weight from being fed regularly. It was a nice feeling, to not feel like some sort of half-starved goblin, and you find some more confidence as you continue on with your day to day life.

You had pleasant dreams in the beginning but the nightmares came back, and they haven’t stopped yet. Sometimes you worry this is all just a dream, working yourself into an anxious fit over the existential nightmare of a thought. Mary-Beth had been quite comforting during it all, very gentle and understanding to your trauma, and being the first one to comfort you when you worked yourself up. It was still embarrassing, but you worked twice as hard on those days, just to focus on doing what you could so you wouldn’t be seen as a useless member.

Charles hadn’t stopped checking in on you, either.

You’d gotten to spend some time alone with him, too, though it was while hunting so it’s not like many words had been exchanged. There was something grounding about being close to him, about watching him guide you along, and you found him to be the greatest motivation to stay with the gang. You hoped your attachment to him wasn’t entirely unhealthy, as you could push off all the mental trauma you’d had on him, but he was always willing to listen. You could tell he knew about what those men did to you, who wouldn’t have put that together, and you wonder, does that make you less attractive in his eyes? Were you just a tainted woman to him now, never able to soar above the ‘friend’ rank in his eyes?

You thought, maybe, the feelings you’d developed for Charles were purely because he had saved you, and there’s no doubt that had something to do with it, but you don’t think that’s all there is to it. You’d grown up around a bunch of loud-mouth drunks, crass men, evil men, and being around someone like Charles was a breath of fresh air. You talked to the other men around camp, and you did enjoy their company, but he was the one you liked to spend the most time around. Charles was just different from anyone you’d ever known, and it made him that much more _attractive._

_‘He’s definitely a good lover.’_ You think, your thoughts often drifting to this thought when you were doing menial tasks around camp. _‘Probably not always gentle, but always loving.’_

“Why don’t you come with us to town?” Mary-Beth asks one day, and you give her a shifty-eyed look. You hadn’t gone to town because you’d feared leaving the safety of the gang’s camp, and you weren’t sure if you could make that leap just yet. Even Mary-Beth’s comforting presence wasn’t enough to make you feel safe. “What if I ask Charles to join us?”

Shit, you should’ve seen that coming.

Mary-Beth wasn’t an idiot, she observed all the happenings around camp and everything around her when her nose wasn’t buried in a book, and there was no way you could keep your feelings for Charles from her. She didn’t pester you about it because there were far more important things to do around camp, but you always knew that she knew. It made you a bit uncomfortable, the fact you didn’t even have to tell her for her to just know, but you try not to let it bother you. She wouldn’t tell him or do anything to make you uncomfortable, but still, you had to be jealous of that skill.

She does, indeed, ask Charles to join the two of you and he agrees, despite looking a bit hesitant. You wonder what that’s about but don’t question it as the ride into town begins, your fingers playing with the material of your sleeve nervously as you try not to think of what could go wrong. As long as you got in and out, got what Mary-Beth wanted from the store, and made your way back to the wagon, you’d be fine, right? There was no reason for you to work yourself up over nothing, plus, who’d be stupid enough to start a fight in the middle of a busy town? Or to kidnap a woman?

Mary-Beth hurries off to the post office to send off a few letters, leaving you with a list of things she was asked to get from the general store. You head there, telling Charles he can do what he wants, but he seems to insist on sticking with you.

“Hey, don’t I know ya?”

You don’t even realize you’re the one being addressed at first, just trying to oversee that the shopkeeper has every item on the list packed away. Charles had stepped outside with him to start loading up the wagon, leaving you alone in the store, waiting for them both to finish up. You feel a heavy hand on your shoulder and jump, suddenly tense and whipping around to see an ugly mug you’d never wanted to see again.

“Yeah, yeah! I do know ya.” You’re frozen in fear as his hand grips your chin, forcibly turning your head so he can see both sides of it. “I had ya before, didn’t I? Back in the good ol’-“

“Keep your hands to yourself.”

The shopkeeper looks rather nervous as he returns behind his counter and Charles approaches you and the man, the look on his face causing the man to retract his hand instantly. You had never fooled yourself about who Charles was as a person; he was a man who could kill when he wanted to, and that energy was radiating off of him in waves now. If he wasn’t protecting you now, you might have been intimidated by the glower on his face. You have to admire how striking he looks in the moment, the scar on the one side of his face seeming to complete the look of angry brute who could kill without hesitation.

The man glances at you as he backs away, raising his finger again as if to say ‘I won’t forget I saw you here’ but when Charles steps forward, the man makes a run for it out of the closest door. You’ve been holding your breath the entire time, you think, because suddenly you feel like your legs are jelly and you want nothing more than to curl up on the ground. That would be unsightly, and embarrassing, so you stumble backwards a few steps to fall against the counter. The shopkeeper reaches out worriedly, but there’s no need, as Charles is back by your side in an instant.

“Mary-Beth should be done now, we should leave.” You grab onto his sleeve to try to balance yourself but you knees buckle and you stumble forward into his arms; he doesn’t let you fall, even if the position is oddly intimate.

You couldn’t describe what you were feeling now that you were in Charles arms, face buried in his chest with no want or need to move. He doesn’t rush you to move away, either, his hands resting on your back, head tilted down so he could look at you as you gathered your thoughts and calmed yourself down. If you hadn’t just been scared out of your mind you might feel some reluctance to act like this, to suddenly push yourself this close to a man you had feelings for, but right now, what you wanted was to feel safe.

And there was no safer place than in Charles’ arms.

You gather a bit more of yourself together on the ride back, Mary-Beth patting your arm and apologizing for dragging you into town. She wasn’t wrong that you needed to face your fear eventually, that you couldn’t spend your entire life hiding away within the camp, especially when the time came for them all to up and leave again. But you feel like you’d been lucky that Charles was there, because how wrong could that have gone? What if the man had connected the dots, realized the gang you’d been staying with had been murdered, and tried to enact some revenge of his own?

There’s no point in thinking about it, dwelling on the possibility, and you throw yourself back into chores when you’re back. You can feel Charles staring at you, but you ignore it, not feeling like you’re in enough of a talking mood. You’d never felt weaker in your life and that was something, coming from a glorified whore who’d spent plenty of her adult life locked away in a shack with no means of escape. You tried to think better of yourself, to think you weren’t just that and that wouldn’t be your only contribution to the world, but it was so hard considering you’d thought that way for years.

You’re grateful when the sun goes down and you have an excuse to curl up in your makeshift bed, wishing you had more blankets so you could just disappear. You don’t know if Charles or Mary-Beth mentioned what happened in town to any of the others, but you hoped not; you still felt helpless, and you didn’t want the other members to see you like that. At first you’d been so willing to accept their pity, and now what you wanted from them was _respect_.

You didn’t get respect by being who you were, a coward who had to rely on others to protect them.

“Hey there.”

You flinch at the sound of his familiar voice, knowing you’d wanted to hear it since you’d come to your senses, but denied yourself as punishment. Punishment for what? Probably being weak, but it’s hard to think so poorly of yourself when Charles was around. He wouldn’t have saved you if he thought you were a worthless soul, would he? Dutch wouldn’t have invited you to become part of the gang if he thought you had nothing to offer, would he? You wished your mind would stop flip-flopping, wish it’d just decide whether you thought you deserved to live or die, but your mood gets slightly better as you sit up to speak to Charles.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner.” As far as you were concerned, his timing had been perfect even if that sleazebag had gotten his hands on you. You think over what to respond, not really knowing how to keep the conversation going when your brain remained muddled with anxieties.

“He was… he…”

“I got the message from how terrified you looked.”

“Yeah, it was just… I know we haven’t traveled real far from wherever I was before but sometimes it feels like another life time, and then this happens. I try so damn hard to forget about it and move on and it- it keeps getting shoved in my face. It’s like the world won’t let me forget nothin’ about how awful it was to be- to be-! Every _day_!” You still had trouble voicing what was done to you, and you never did because you know it didn’t have to be said. People knew what had been done to you the minute they looked at you, and you hated that, above all. How could you forget about that mess if no one else could?

“I know. You don’t have to say it.” The look on his face isn’t exactly pity, but you can tell he’s listening, absorbing the full impact of your words. You had revealed a summary of the mental battles you’d been fighting since you joined the camp to Charles, something you’d barely managed to confide in anyone. Even Mary-Beth didn’t know the extent of your fear, how deeply it ran, otherwise she might’ve never suggested bringing you into town to begin with.

“Thank you for all that you’ve done, Charles, but I think I’m… I think I’m beyond saving at that point.”

He lets out a sigh.

“I don’t think that’s true, but it doesn’t matter what I think; it only matters how you feel about it. If you think of yourself as a victim as the rest of your life, that’s all you’ll be.” His words are sharp, to the point, but they’re correct and you knew it. You didn’t want to hide behind the shroud of being a victim any longer, you wanted to take back your life and figure out what you wanted from it, but it still wouldn’t be as easy as you wished it could be. If the world owed you anything, it was that, right? An easy road to recovery. “But I don’t think you’ll be one, I don’t think you’re entirely one now.”

“You sure about that?” You laugh without humor. “Don’t even know what I want out of life.”

“Neither do half of us.” He motioned towards the other members, some of whom had gathered around the fire while others sat at the table playing some card game. “Come out there with me. You don’t have to talk to anyone… just be.”

You mull over the idea and, despite wanting nothing more than to sleep, decide it’s most likely the best idea. Being around the other gang members always put you in a better mood, listening to Javier sing, or Hosea tell one of his stories, it made you feel human again. As you go to stand up Charles offers his hand, and you smile up at him, gratefully taking it.

He was your savior, in more ways than one.


End file.
